Anywhere Else But Here
by Hot Monkey Brain
Summary: Kyle never thought that completing his degree would involve returning to South Park and hiring a gang of would-be mercenaries to find a missing friend. Slash, KxK, Creek. Complete!
1. Indiana Broflovski

**Author Note: **This is muh brand-new chapter fic, I hope you enjoy it! I'm really, really nervous about posting it for a few reasons. It's a romance story and I don't usually do romance. And aside from one short story, I've _never_ written slash, so this is something of a departure from the norm for me. There's humour, angst, drama, action and H/C, so I'm not even sure what the genre should be! It'd be nice to know if you liked it or what I'm doing wrong, so feel free to let me know – the review button's at the bottom of the page and authors do so love to get them. I've done research on the stuff I didn't know, mostly about the American educational system, but there's every possibility I got things wrong. It's just background stuff and not really important to the story, but feel free to point out any stupid-ass errors I've made and I'll rectify them.

The warnings: This story contains slash, boy lurve, whatever you want to call it. If it squicks you, what are you doing here? It was in the summary. The main pairings are Creek (Craig and Tweek) and Ksquared (Kenny and Kyle), with some hints of Gregory/ Mole. There are many, many moments involving guns, explosions, creative cursing, fires, car chases and all manner of things that rightfully belong in an action movie. There's also some sexually suggestive stuff, but I've no plans to get explicit. You will not see the weiner. Not unless I get really drunk while I'm writing.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the characters, I don't own the town, I don't even own the second half of season twelve (fucking TV).

**&*&*&*&*&**

Kyle Broflovski paused outside the office for a moment, taking a deep breath and sternly reminding himself that the reason he had been asked to meet the lecturer might be for something perfectly mundane. It didn't mean that he was failing his degree, which was one of the scenarios his mind was trying to conjure up – and since the marks he had received on his work to date were among the highest on the course, it was unlikely. Nor did it mean he was being hailed as the new face of historical archaeology, which his more exuberant imaginings were suggesting.

He knocked at the door, waiting for the summons from within before entering, plastering a pleasant look on his face.

Professor Chalmers glanced up from the paper he had been studying and rose from his chair. "Ah, Kyle, thanks for coming. Take a seat."

Kyle sat in the vacant seat and the Professor returned to his chair behind the desk, putting the papers aside and studying Kyle intently. Chalmers was one of the most respected lecturers in the field of historical archaeology, the study of past civilisations and Kyle felt lucky to have the man as his mentor. That he also seemed to take a personal interest in the young man's work was a source of pride.

"This is your last year with us, isn't it Kyle?"

"Yes sir," said Kyle, trying not to let his nervousness at the thought show. After graduation, he would have to find a place outside of school, based on his own merits and although he knew he was well qualified in his field, he couldn't help the small flare of panic when he considered how many other graduates might be vying for those same positions.

"And you've yet to find a place on a research team, which as you're aware is mandatory for this degree."

"I've had a few offers," said Kyle, trying not to look too eager. Had the Professor heard of someone looking for an assistant and was willing to recommend him? Because that seemed to be where the conversation was heading and if it was true, then it would make Kyle's whole _life_.

"I'm taking a sabbatical to do some field study with a team of four other people," said Chalmers. "Three of them I've already assigned. I was hoping you'd consent to being the fourth."

Kyle tried to stop the grin that spread across his face, with very little success. "A research project? What would it entail?"

"There are two reasons I thought you'd be suited to it," said the Professor. "It seems to be in one of your areas of interest – the impact of ancient cultures on modern society. Your work is outstanding and this is exactly the kind of thing I think would arouse your interest. And the project would count toward your final degree. This is just what potential employers would be looking for."

Nodding eagerly, Kyle waited to hear the rest, although he was pretty much sold already. Not only was it a great opportunity, it would be far better than some dry paper on a subject that had been covered by others before him. He tried to caution himself – he had no idea just what the project would entail yet and for all he knew, it might be a field of study he hated – but it was hard to temper his enthusiasm.

"There was another reason I thought of you when I was debating team members, although to be honest, it's likely you would have been my first choice anyway. This just clinched the deal. I understand you lived most of your life in Park County, Colorado?"

Kyle's enthusiasm suddenly plummeted. "Yeah, I did."

Professor Chalmers nodded. "A recent excavation of an ancient burial ground turned up some inscriptions that seem to indicate the Park County area of Colorado, most specifically..."

"South Park," finished Kyle.

"That's right." The Professor raised an eyebrow. "Have you heard about the find?"

"No," said Kyle. "It just – makes perfect sense."

Chalmers mused on this for a moment, then let it go. "There were a series of wall carvings found in Peru..." He noticed Kyle shudder. "Are you alright?"

"Fine, I'm fine."

"It was some time ago, but the excavation has turned up new finds and it seems unbelievable that the Peruvians would have been familiar with the Americas at that time and certainly not Colorado. There is some, uh, circumstantial evidence that carvings discovered earlier depicted a future event, although most scholars think it was just a warning that wasn't heeded."

"The guinea pigs."

"You're well versed on this stuff, that's good. I'm surprised actually, most people aren't aware that the carvings even exist."

"I took a special interest," replied Kyle, trying hard to repress some memories.

"Anyway, the newly found carvings also seem to point to some event, some catastrophe. It's aroused interest mostly because there are symbols which indicate circumstances leading up to the event and all but two have happened in the last few years. My research team would be examining the likelihood of the other carvings being currently accurate and proving or disproving once and for all the theory that the Peruvians were able to tell the future."

"I see."

"I'm sure it'll be proven nonsense, but in either case, it will be a real coup for your studies. The final grade rests on some kind of field work and this is a great opportunity."

Kyle was a good deal less happy about the proposed trip than he had been before he had found out the reasons for it. But the Professor was right; he needed the accreditation and it would look damn good on his resume to be associated with Chalmers.

"Does the research mean we have to _go_ to Peru?"

Chalmers laughed. "Not on our budget. There's no need, we have pictures and footage of the carvings and their accuracy won't be proven there. No, we'll be heading out to South Park to check just how well the carvings align with current events there, see if we can find what the carvings we haven't identified yet are referring to. A wild goose chase, but in the interests of academic research, one that _someone_ has to do. It might as well be us."

"And there'll be no guinea pigs?"

"Only the little ones."

"Or Canadian comedians?"

Chalmers gave him a funny look. "There aren't any on the itinerary."

"In that case, I'd be happy to join the research team."

It probably wasn't the best idea to go on the trip, but Kyle knew that passing up the opportunity would look bad and might give him a reputation in the department, meaning it would be harder for him to find a suitable excursion to attend instead. Besides, he'd always wanted this kind of chance; something that hadn't been done before and working with one of the most respected authorities in the field.

Although he hadn't had much luck when it came to South Park and prophecies.

But this time things might be different, he consoled himself. There was every chance that the 'new' carvings were also referring to the guinea pig invasion, since they were found in the same place and then the whole thing would just blow over, with him still able to put together a killer research paper. And he'd get a chance to hang out with some of the old crowd again. Most of them were off at their respective schools, including Stan, which would put a bit of a damper on things. But not _everyone_ had gone the educational route and there'd still be plenty of his old friends in town. He just hoped that Kenny wasn't away on one of his 'business trips'.

And there was the chance to spend some family time with his mom and dad, not to mention his little brother, who was doing most of his work via some He wasn't homesick or anything like that, but it was always nice to be back with the family again.

Professor Chalmers handed Kyle a lever arch file that was crammed to bursting. "Our schedule's in there, you should have no problem clearing the time away. I've also added some pictures of the carvings, photocopies for the most part I'm afraid, but there are some close ups of the things I'm really interested in. I also gave you a suggested reading list for writing your paper."

"Thanks," said Kyle, ridiculously pleased that the man had actually taken the time to think of his studies as well as the excursion.

"I've got some copies of the pictures here though," said the Professor. "I'd like you to take a look at them now and see if there's any immediate thoughts you can offer."

The smartboard was programmed into the computer; Chalmers clicked a few buttons on his laptop and projected a larger picture onto the wall. Kyle frowned at the carving. He recognised the style from the ill-fated, totally accidental and not-even-slightly-his-fault trip to Peru and the shape of the land was clearly that of the Park County area. Strange, but it didn't take much imagination to discount it as coincidence, even when the next picture came up and showed the outline of what was clearly America surrounding the first carving.

Tilting his head, Kyle looked at the third picture as it came up. "That looks like a lunar eclipse."

"Yes, I thought so. The next one's in ten days time."

"But lunar eclipses aren't unusual."

"No, but with the circumstantial evidence, it'll be interesting to be in South Park when it happens." The Professor chuckled. Kyle couldn't bring himself to join in.

"This one's very interesting," said Chalmers, clicking onto the next picture. "It shows a person with clear identifying features, which is rare in these kinds of markings. Apparently linked to the story being told in the carvings."

Kyle expected to see the same picture he had seen for himself during his time in Peru; Craig Tucker complete with hat and disinterested stare, being menaced by a giant guinea pig. But the person in this picture was someone totally different – yet still someone Kyle recognised. And all of a sudden, his denials that the carvings were anything other than a coincidence seemed hollow.

"Oh shit."

Chalmers turned his gaze to Kyle, eyes bright and expression friendly, but there was an undeniable tone of steely curiosity in his voice when he spoke. "Is that someone you recognise?"

"Yeah... at least, it looks like him. We were in the same class all the way through school. But he left town when we were seventeen and he hasn't been back since, as far as I know."

"And you don't know where he is?" The disappointment was palpable and Kyle felt the urge to make amends.

"I don't know. He wasn't a close friend or anything and I'm pretty sure he never kept in touch with anyone else in town." 'Pretty sure' didn't cover it, he _knew_ no one had seen or heard of him in years, but he didn't want to destroy all hope.

"Dammit." Chalmers stared at the picture. "Since this carving might actually depict a living person, it could be a major coup for the people verifying it. But if we can't trace him, then I guess that goes by the wayside."

Kyle scowled at the carving, the man indicated in it. He recognised the person even if he hadn't seen them for years and if the carving really _was_ a prophecy – and since he had seen the same carvings shortly before Craig shot lasers from his eyes, it didn't seem unlikely – then he could be in big trouble.

But by acting on his suspicions and calling the one person he knew for sure could help find him, he was opening a _major_ can of worms. Kenny McCormick wasn't the only thing in South Park that wouldn't stay buried and this act would constitute dragging up a bad past for one of his friends.

Too bad. There would be serious trouble heading to South Park over the next couple of weeks no matter what he did. Besides, he _really_ wanted a good grade.

"Actually, I might know someone who can track him down."

**~:~**

As soon as he left the office, Kyle hurried out of the building and walked in the direction of his shared apartment, pulling out his cell phone as he did so. He certainly didn't want to be overheard by his room mates when he made _this_ call.

Scrolling through the names in the directory, he found what he was looking for and called, looking around as he did so in case anyone was in earshot. Not that he intended to say anything that would make sense to most people, but experience had taught him caution.

The ringing stopped and a familiar voice came through the phone. "My horoscope said I'd get a dirty phonecall from a luscious redhead today. If you start heavy breathing at me, I can turn my phone off without worrying I'm missing something."

"Hey Kenny," said Kyle with a grin. "How's it hanging?"

"All the way to the ground. You?"

"Actually, things have taken a turn for the weird. You got any plans over the next couple of weeks?"

"Nope, not unless something comes up. And Barbara Streisand was just on TV. Trust me, _nothing_ is coming up for a while. Except maybe my lunch."

"I'm coming back to South Park for a while."

Kenny's voice immediately radiated concern. "Has something happened at Uni?"

"It's not like that, don't worry. Professor Chalmers offered me a place on his research team and we're gonna be based in South Park."

"Cool!" said Kenny with wild cheer. "That's great news. Getting to work with the great Professor huh? I know you've been wanting that. Hope you'll still have time to come over and sink a few cold ones with us."

"Of course," said Kyle. "But there's something else. I could use your help. In a, uh... _professional_ capacity."

"Go on."

Kyle raised his eyebrows. He'd been expecting some smutty comment, but it seemed that when it came to his work, Kenny was all business.

"I need to find someone."

"Who?"

"You're gonna hate this."

"Oh _God_. Who is it?"

"I need you to find Tweek Tweak."

There was a long pause at the other end of the line, then Kenny sighed. "Shit."

"I knew you were gonna hate it."


	2. The House of Trouser

**Author Note: **Huge thanks to thequillofdestiny, Hypothisos and Zoshi the Confused for the reviews! I love you guys, I was horribly nervous about posting this story and the comments helped no end. On to the warnings – um, not many in this chapter, but I am the High Priestess of Accent Butchering (meetings every Tuesday at seven, bring your own robes and ceremonial daggers), so I hope I haven't gone OTT. Reviews are greeted with big smiles and rampant excitement. And enjoy!

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Christophe had always known the route his life was supposed to go, had planned and prepared for it. Which was why he was so _pissed off _by the way things were.

He was a mercenary for crying out loud. He could kill a man in sixteen innovative ways using only a spoon; adding bullets, blades, bombs and blunt instruments only added to the possibilities. He was a master of covert operations, able to creep in and out of a location undetected in any number of ways. He had survivalist skills that meant should he be stranded in hostile territory, he should be able to survive for several days by finding himself water and shelter. He had nurtured a pitiless, cold streak that stopped him getting emotional over the things he had done, or freezing with moral indecision at the crucial moment. And he had no political agenda at all, meaning he could take the money from anyone willing to pay him an extortionate fee without any qualms about his actions.

So how was it, he wondered, that he had got to his early twenties to find himself still living in South Park, sharing a house with the two most annoying guys on the planet, able to call himself a mercenary only by the most energetic stretch of a willing imagination?

Although if he was honest with himself, the living arrangements weren't too bad. The bachelor pad certainly beat the shit out of living with his pious mother and the three of them made enough to afford a decent place, on the outskirts of town some distance from their nearest neighbours. Anyone who cared to consider the situation would find nothing strange about three single guys sharing a good-sized house and splitting the bills. They all had their own room and shared the living room, kitchen and bathroom. No lack of privacy should they require it, although they still occasionally got on each others nerves.

Kenny was a prime example. He was quiet enough most of the time, good company when he was around and spent several days each month dead and therefore out of the house (except on a couple of unfortunate occasions, but now they kept a good stock of air fresheners and bin bags). But he hoarded _everything_ and refused to throw anything away, which drove Christophe crazy thanks to his own sparse way of living. Unwearable clothes (he might get around to mending them one day), old books (he might get around to reading them one day), computer parts (he was going to build an entire computer out of them one day) – the list was endless. Not so bad when the junk was confined to the man's room, but when it inevitably spread to the rest of the house, Christophe got annoyed and started throwing things away, which got _Kenny_ annoyed.

Also, he continually ran out of cigarettes and stole Christophe's and never replaced them.

At least Kenny was predictable. Their third house mate, Craig, was anything but. Most of the time he was cool, joining the others for gamesphere or a movie. But on occasion he would get into minor or major depressions and become bitterly sarcastic. And he flipped _everyone_ off, _all the time_. The tic had been explained to Christophe before he'd had very much to do with the other man, but it still made his hands itch to grab his shovel and swing it every time he was greeted with Craig's middle finger.

He too continually ran out of cigarettes, stole Christophe's and never replaced them.

For the most part though, living with the guys was okay. And there was the major bonus that he never had to lie about where he was when he was out, where he worked, why he occasionally returned to the house covered in blood, or smelling of gunpowder, or nursing bite marks whilst muttering about "fucking guard dogs". Over the past few years, they had all been recruited by the same organisation and due to need for secrecy and the nature of the work, they comprised three-fifths of the entire workforce.

At first, Christophe had baulked at the thought of working as part of a team. He was The Mole; he worked alone. Mercenaries sold their services to the highest bidder and he certainly didn't need other people taking a cut of the profits, didn't need anyone to look out for his interests. All he needed was word of mouth among a certain type of person and he was in business. No ties, no one else to worry about, no one to fuck things up.

But after a while, he discovered certain advantages to the arrangement. Many of the assignments he got involved him working alone and when the job required something more, the three of them made up for the weaknesses of the others. Kenny's even temper and Craig's stoicism made up for Christophe's irritability. Craig turned out to be excellent at surveillance and for some reason animals loved him, which went a long way in Christophe's estimation, considering his hatred of guard dogs (and it had probably saved their lives that time they invaded the house with the ninja squirrels. Cartoons lied; there was nothing cute about small fluffy animals wielding blades). And when a distraction was needed, Kenny could always provide something, whether it be attracting attention to himself, creating an explosion or suffering a spectacularly gory death.

There were only two problems with his job. The first was that there was very little actual mercenaryabout it. Christophe believed that being a mercenary meant fighting wars, assassinating dictators, creeping into countries with closed borders and doing dangerous, dirty jobs that no one else wanted or dared to do. Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be much call for that kind of thing, or if there was, no one was rushing to hire him for the job. True, it wasn't as if he could advertise his services in the yellow pages, but surely _someone_ would be in need of a mercenary in this day and age.

Instead, he reflected gloomily, their work was slowly moving away from disposal and further into protection. Admittedly, they lived in South Park and things were frequently screwy in this town, but when about fifty per cent of their work came after a frantic call from the Mayors office to deal with some major threat attacking the town, they were getting too far away from what they were _supposed_ to be doing. There wasn't very much cold-blooded killing but there certainly was a lot of protecting and serving. They weren't mercenaries, they were Charlie's fucking Angels.

Or rather, Gregory's Angels.

And _that_ was the main problem with the job. The person who gave the orders was Gregory, latterly of Yardale, currently residing in South Park and second to the top of Christophe's Things I Hate list. Guard dogs were still number one, with a bullet if he had enough to spare.

Christophe could deal with the work – it was the danger that he got off on, along with the minor satisfaction of knowing that in his own way, he'd done a good thing and there was plenty of danger on most of their assignments. And he got paid well, which was the most important thing of all. It wasn't his first choice and it was an irritation, but it wasn't the end of the world.

But Gregory threw him. Gregory showed up to meetings looking impeccable, usually smirking slightly, throwing around orders and strategies as if he were the one going on the job instead of them. Okay, admittedly he had been known to go into the field but even then, he came out of the event without a hair out of place (including the time when Kenny came out of the event with most of his guts out of place). It irked Christophe that he always seemed presentable, because he was the only person who could make the Frenchman feel unwashed and unkempt just by being in the same room.

And it annoyed Christophe that Gregory _never_ lost his cool. Nothing any of them said ever ruffled him. None of the strange things that turned up in South Park fazed him even slightly. The time a reanimated velociraptor skeleton crashed through their window and bit Kenny in half, he'd only asked to borrow an AK-47. He even said please. It was like being around a robot or something, the Stepford Boss.

Christophe and Gregory had known each other for years, both of them being involved in similar exploits from their youth. The difference was that Christophe was materialistic, Gregory an idealist. He was _political_. He probably would have been a great hippy, if not for the fact he would actually act for his beliefs rather than hold endless bullshit sessions. Being involved with underground activists meant that their paths crossed on a semi-regular basis and when Gregory had decided to go into business rather than politics, the Mole had been the obvious person to call.

It wasn't Gregory's personality that Christophe disliked, had that been the case he would simply have declined to work with him at all, or been gone long before. He actually found the other man coolly amusing, knowledgeable and businesslike. No, it was the way that he felt near him, as if Gregory's proximity immediately highlighted Christophe's shortcomings, the ones he never noticed in the company of anyone else. It unnerved him and made him even more sullen and withdrawn than he usually was.

But Gregory hadn't been around for a couple of days and Christophe was as close to relaxed as he ever got. Sprawled on one of the two couches in the living room of their shared house, he had been playing a shooting game on the console against Kenny, right up until the man's phone had rung and he got up to take the call in the kitchen. Usually they would spend their free time between assignments preparing for the next one – being a mercenary meant being on the ball at all times – but both Kenny and Craig insisted that they spent at least _some_ of their lives acting like normal young men. Christophe's concession to this was the shooting game. At least he could get some target practice in.

Or he would, once Kenny had finished his phone call.

Growing bored of waiting, he switched the game to one player, using the plastic gun to blast the computerised foes in his path, occasionally muttering, "Take zat, beetches." He was vaguely aware of Kenny talking in the kitchen but couldn't have heard the actual words even if he had been interested.

Kenny finally emerged from the kitchen, a distracted look on his face as he ran a hand through his uncombed and unruly blonde hair, grabbing his hoody from where he had thrown it the last time he took it off and pulling it on. "I gotta go out."

"Uh-huh," replied Christophe, mildly intrigued. Whoever had been on the phone had certainly given Kenny something to think about.

"Enjoy the game," added Kenny as he left the room. "I get the feeling it's the last time we'll be playing for a while."

_That_ got Christophe's attention. It sounded to him as if something was about to go down in South Park and when that happened, usually they were the ones called in to sort it out. It might just be that one of the citizens had some advance information, but if that was the case, then why was Kenny not sharing the news? And just where was he going anyway?

He heard the front door open and assumed it was Kenny leaving, until he heard him speak. "Oh, uh, hi Craig!"

Craig grunted something too low for Christophe to hear and he wondered if the other man had picked up on the fake innocence in Kenny's voice.

"Nowhere, for a walk, to buy pizza, bye!" The door slammed and a few moments later, Craig walked into the living room, frowning slightly.

"What's up with Kenny?" he asked without preamble.

Christophe shrugged. "All I know is, 'e got some call and now 'e is jumpy. I think something is about to 'appen in town."

"Figures," said Craig with a sigh, dropping into Kenny's vacated chair and picking up the second player gun. "Probably Cartman giving him a heads-up."

Christophe snorted. Eric Cartman was the mayoral aide, one of the most influential men in town and probably the most manipulative bastard that he had ever met. Cartman knew a lot of the things they did simply because of who he worked with and mostly, the three men were happy to let Gregory deal with him. Still, the thought that he would be the next candidate for Mayor when McDaniels vacated the job made Christophe shudder.

Craig hated Cartman just as much as Christophe did, but Kenny had been friends with the fat boy since time out of mind and they still had some weird rapport going on, which meant that Kenny was frequently able to get information that the fat man would otherwise have withheld. It was strange in a relationship that seemed to consist of both parties trading insults, but useful when Cartman was feeding them misleading facts in order to further his own agenda.

It was a couple of hours later when Kenny returned, clearly not in a great mood. The other men had given up on the gamesphere and Christophe was checking over some of his extensive stash of weaponry while Craig downloaded pictures from his camera to his laptop.

"Where's the pizza?" asked Craig, not bothering to look up from his computer.

"There is none." Kenny headed into the kitchen and returned with three bottles of beer. "Gregory's coming over in an hour or so."

Christophe and Craig glanced up in surprise, accepting the beers as Kenny handed them out.

"New assignment." Kenny slouched into the seat next to Craig and pulled a battered packet of cigarettes from the pocket of his jeans. "He's getting the information now, I'll wait for him to tell you about it."

"But you know something," said Christophe, eyes firmly on the gun he was dismantling, his own cigarette sticking out of the corner of his mouth.

"A little," admitted Kenny, looking down at the floor and clearly not comfortable with the conversation.

Glancing up, Christophe caught Kenny giving him a look that clearly told him to get the hell out of the room for a while. With a sigh, he set his gun down on the table in pieces.

"I'm going to 'ave a wash," he said, examining the dirt on his hands that the gun had left. "Zat Gregory, 'e will probably 'ave a sheet-fit if 'e 'as to encounter dirt."

Craig sniggered as Christophe left the room, clearly having missed the silent exchange between him and Kenny. "The Mole prettying himself up for the boss. That is soooo funny."

Kenny wanted to seize on the distraction, but he figured he'd better just bite the bullet and get the conversation over with. The news would be better coming from him than from Gregory, although in honesty, probably not _much_ better. "Um, you remember when we all got sent to Peru?"

"I had lots of therapy so I _wouldn't_ remember going to Peru."

"You didn't _get_ any therapy."

"I didn't get my hundred dollars back either."

Kenny sighed. "Kyle called me up earlier. Apparently, there's been a lot of digging going on at the site where we found those carvings of you and the guinea pigs and they've found more pictures."

Craig flipped him off, leaning back and closing his eyes wearily. "No. I'm not getting involved again. I'm staying right here in South Park, I don't care how much we're getting paid."

"You're not on the new carvings Craig."

"No way, I'm having nothing to do with this."

"It's someone else."

"I'm not listening."

"Kyle wants to hire us to find Tweek!"

Craig's eyes shot open and he sat up straight, staring at Kenny. "You're joking."

Kenny shook his head. "Gregory's getting all the details, but I thought I should tell you first. Kyle says there's a whole bunch of those markings further back in the cave we were in. We might have seen them if we hadn't been chasing after you," he added pointedly, but Craig ignored the criticism.

"Anyway, Kyle says the picture looks just like Tweek and seems to be some kind of prophecy. Just like the last one."

"Prophesying what?"

Kenny shrugged. "I don't know. That's what Gregory's finding out. But there's a research team heading on up to South Park and they're all set on finding where Tweek got to." Kenny hesitated for a moment. "You haven't any idea where he might be, do you?"

Craig snorted. "I haven't heard a word from him since – since he left town," he said, leaving out the details, not that it mattered. Kenny didn't know _everything_, but gossip travelled fast in a small town and what had happened to cause Tweek's parents to take their son and go had been big news at the time. He knew enough. "Token and Clyde haven't heard anything either."

_Or they decided it was for the best not to tell you they had_ thought Kenny, making a mental note to call Token later on and see if he knew anything.

Craig lapsed into a moody silence and Kenny frowned. Had it been one of his other friends he might have offered a hug, but Craig was _not_ the touchy-feely type and Kenny had the feeling that it would be a bad time for him to die. Instead, he struggled for a way to fill the silence.

"Have you ever gone looking for him?" Oh yeah, now he remembered why he tended not to speak in awkward situations; because his mouth blurted out the wrong thing without filtering it through his brain first.

"Thought about it," admitted Craig, resting his elbows on his knees. "But what's the point? He hauled ass outta here quickly enough and if he'd wanted to come back, he could have done. We're not seventeen any more. He probably just wanted to forget this shitty town. I know I would if I ever wised up and moved on."

Kenny wanted to point out a few flaws in this logic, but Christophe chose that moment to re-enter the room, glancing curiously at the pair. Kenny supposed he must know something was going on – Christophe didn't miss much and he knew them both well enough to realise something was up – but he didn't ask any questions. Instead, he noticed Kenny's mostly empty bottle and Craig's apparent stress and decided to ignore that his own drink was untouched. "Beer anyone?"

"Fuck the beer," muttered Craig, resting his head in his hands. "Pass the tequila."


	3. Don't Want Your Job In Harbucks

**Author Note:** Huge thanks to thequillofdestiny, The Brat Prince and Hypothisos for reviewing! And belatedly, thanks to Zoshi the Confused for the comment that inspired the title of the first chapter. You guys all rule so much!

Anyone else see The Coon and suddenly feel the urge to write a bunch of one shots based on the possibilities? Just me then? Damn.

This is the obligatory flashback chapter and is Creek-centric. Sorry 'bout that, for those of you that don't like Creek. I didn't intend it to be like that, but the bloody thing got so long that there wasn't room for anything else and I just couldn't bring myself to cut it. Heh, this chapter was one of the earliest scenes I came up with – I was listening to a song called 'Starbucks' and it all kinda fell into place. Never fear though, I'll be back to the other characters next chapter. Writing Craig, Kenny and Christophe as a group is too much fun to stay away from for long (I'm actually already quite far ahead with the chapters and it's all because I get such a kick out of that).

Well, that was a long-ass and probably totally irrelevant note. Enjoy!

**&*&*&*&*&**

_Tweek was pretty sure his life couldn't get much worse. _

_His school work, once merely a source of concern, was beginning to cause him wild panic attacks. It wasn't too long before high school would be done with and from there, he had to either get a job or go to college. His parents had the money to send him, but most reputable places would take one look at his grades and laugh hysterically before telling him to get lost, or possibly locking him in a home for the terminally stupid. Not that he _was_ stupid, but his concentration was poor and his grades woefully average. Besides, leaving South Park and going out of town, maybe even out of _state_, made his heart go into wild flutters._

_Most of his friends would be leaving town after high school, something else he really didn't want to think about. Token was bound for some Ivy League establishment, his parents were rich enough to send him and his grades weren't going to be a problem. Clyde was kinda dumb, but he'd bulked up in his teenage years and was damn good at most sports, which he was hoping would get him some kind of pass. _

_At least Craig would still be hanging around town._

_Craig's grades veered from one month to the next, depending on how much trouble he'd been in. His parents were too apathetic to give much thought to his future and when asked about his plans, Craig merely laughed. No matter how much things would change, Craig would remain a constant._

_Or so Tweek devoutly hoped. _

_Occasionally, Craig would have a bitch-fest about South Park, telling Tweek about how he would one day just blow out of town. Usually those plans involved a big-ass motorcycle and a distant city and while Tweek knew the former was unlikely, the latter certainly wasn't. Dealing with thoughts of Token and Clyde leaving was hard enough, the possibility of Craig going too gave Tweek a lot of sleepless nights. Not that he let on to Craig, thinking that if one subject was out of bounds, they might stop talking altogether. _

_If Tweek stayed in South Park, there was always a job open for him – his dad was the manager of Harbucks and had already insisted Tweek worked there part-time. It would be a simple matter for him to go to the coffee shop instead of school, going in at seven for the early shift or finishing at five. It was pretty much set in stone that it would happen._

_The trouble was, Tweek had no desire to work in Harbucks for the rest of his life. _

_Already, he could feel the future settling on him like a physical weight. Endless days of making coffee, twitchy, funny Tweek who was so obsessed with the brown that he worked around it. Evenings hanging around with Craig, at least for a couple of years until the man moved in with some girl and he got too busy. Living at home with his parents, the endless metaphors, the gnomes, getting older and more miserable until he dropped dead of a caffeine-induced heart attack._

_He could see it as clearly as if it had already happened. And it filled him with horror, made him panic and twitch worse than usual. He didn't want that life, didn't want that future – but he didn't know any way to change things. He couldn't see a way out._

_Sighing at the direction of his thoughts, he finished the espresso he was making and passed it to the customer, looking up to take the next order and smiling as he realised Craig was standing there. _

"_Hey Tweek," he said casually. "Came to wait for you to finish. Token's gonna treat us all to pizza."_

_Glancing over to their usual table, Tweek noticed that Token and Clyde were mugging and waving at him. Laughing at their antics, he turned to make them their usual order, neglecting to charge for it. Craig watched him idly, leaning against the counter and smiling when Tweek handed over three cardboard cups. _

_Tweek smiled back, thinking that he was _really_ gonna miss Craig should he ever leave town._

_Craig took the drinks and Tweek reached for another cup, planning on having a drink himself._

"_Tweek!"_

"_GAH!" Tweek jerked, knocking the stack of cardboard cups across the floor. Craig rolled his eyes and headed over to Token and Clyde, making Tweek want to hit his head against something. Hard. _

_Mr Tweak emerged from the office, his usual benign expression on his face. "Son, I just got off the phone with head office. They're holding a training course next month, four days. I told them you'd be going."_

"_Gnk! What about school?"_

_Richard gave him an incredulous look. "I think this is more important, don't you?"_

"_No! Ack!"_

"_Tweek, life is a lot like making the perfect cup of coffee. To get that freshly roasted taste of pure flavour and that smooth, tantalising aroma takes time. The finest beans, slowly roasted for a special coffee, special like the sunlight reflecting in a perfect blue lake, invigorating like a clear winter sunrise."_

_Metaphors, his life was filled with frigging metaphors. Tweek felt his left eye start to twitch. "What? I don't get it!"_

"_It'll help when you start working here full time. I'll clear it with the school."_

_Something inside Tweek gently snapped._

_His own father expected him to work in Harbucks for the rest of his life. He couldn't do it. All the pressure he was under to continue in the family tradition, like his father and grandfather, the low expectations people had about him, even his friends took it for granted that _this_ was his destiny, all he wanted._

_Screw it. _

_Twitching worse than ever, Tweek reached around his back and untied his apron, taking it off and handing it to his father._

"_Tweek?"_

"_I quit." Tweek jerked violently, sensing that the people in the coffee shop were watching him. It was probably obvious to his friends what was going on, what the other patrons – a woman on her own and Stan Marsh and Henrietta something-or-other sitting in a corner – were thinking, he could care less. _

"_Now son, don't be hasty." Richard seemed mildly amused and infuriatingly calm, which pissed Tweek off more. He was behaving as if his son were having a temper tantrum. "Important decisions can't be rushed. It's like preparing a cup of..."_

"No more metaphors!" _Tweek hadn't meant to shout but the words left his mouth before he could consider the volume. Now he _knew_ everyone would be watching them. Harbucks seemed unnaturally quiet, in spite of the low pop music playing over the speakers. He considered the possibility that he would never again have to listen to the same twenty songs for hours on end and found it a liberating thought. _

"_No more metaphors," he repeated in a quieter voice. "No more. I'm done. I'm through. I quit."_

_Turning, he crossed the shop, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. As he had suspected, they were all looking at him – the lone woman seemed bored, Stan surprised and Henrietta was smirking. His friends were all staring, Clyde with his mouth open which, Tweek thought, made him look incredibly dense. No one said a word as he pushed the door open and left, hopefully for the last time. _

_It was twilight, the street quiet and most of the light coming from the businesses that remained open. Snow lay on the ground, swept to the side to make travel safer, but the air held a chill that suggested more snow was on the way. Tweek paused outside the shop, closing his eyes and trying to will his almost constant twitching to stop, wishing for his physical state to match the calm he was witnessing. _

_He felt a powerful sense of freedom._

_He heard the door to Harbucks open and he thought it would be his father come to bring him back to work – but when he turned, it was Craig making his way over to where Tweek stood, stopping beside him and putting a hand on his shoulder._

"_Tweek man, that was fucking awesome."_

_Tweek sniggered – it was such a typical Craig reaction – then the laughter dried up as paranoia set in. "Shit dude, my dad's gonna kill me! GAH! I'm gonna be poor! What if I never get another job? I'll have to live on a bench in the park and the homeless will give me blowjobs!"_

"_You don't have to get blowjobs from the homeless," Craig reassured him. _

"_But my dad's gonna freak!"_

"_Well, you don't have to go home yet." Craig took his hand from Tweek's shoulder and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Let's get outta here."_

_The two boys walked off and after a moment, Craig started laughing under his breath. Tweek shot him an irritated look and Craig tried to muffle his chuckles. "Sorry. I'd been wondering how long it'd be before you snapped."_

"_GAH! H-how did you know I was gonna – gnk – snap?"_

"_Hey, I know you. We all saw it coming. Heh, Token and Clyde owe me ten bucks each. Token thought you'd wait until after high school and Clyde didn't think you'd do it until you were turned twenty. Shows what they know."_

_Tweek managed a small grin, thinking that maybe his friends expected more out of him than a life in coffee after all. Just knowing they had noticed his disenchantment made him feel all kinds of better, as long as he didn't let his thoughts go back to what his parents would say – oops, too late. _

"_Shit man! What am I gonna do for the rest of my life? My parent's are gonna kick me out and I'll have to join the army and I'll get sent to Afghanistan! Holy shit dude, I'm gonna get kidnapped and Osama Bin Laden'll make me dress as a parrot on youtube then shoot me in the head!"_

"_A parrot? Why a parrot?"_

"_GAH!"_

"_Okay, calm down. You don't have to join the army. Your parents won't kick you out, they'll probably just – try to talk you into going back to work."_

"_Oh God, you're right! They won't leave me alone! They'll wake me in the night to yell at me and the metaphors GAAAH!"_

"_So get a job."_

"_I can't go back there, the pressure, I can't take the pressure!"_

"_Not a job in Harbucks dickweed. A job somewhere else. Show them you're serious."_

_Tweek paused before the panicked exclamations could leave his mouth and considered it. "Who'd hire me?"_

"_We'll figure it out in the morning," said Craig firmly, continuing walking down the darkened streets. "You're too freaked out to think about it now."_

_Nodding, Tweek tried to put all thoughts of the future out of his mind, checking out their surroundings instead. He'd been walking alongside Craig and letting him lead the way, but they didn't seem to be heading in a direction that would take them to their usual haunts. "Uh, Craig – where are we going?"_

"_Over there." Craig pointed ahead of them, but as far as Tweek could see, all that was there were a few of South Park's more dilapidated houses. Several of them were in darkness, fading 'For Sale' signs on the yellowing lawns. Those with some signs of occupancy weren't in much better condition, each seeming to have at least one window boarded up and as neglected as their empty counterparts._

"_Why are we going to Kenny's?"_

"_We're not going to Kenny's!" _

"_Then what are we doing in this neighbourhood? Oh God! You're trying to find me a corner to sell my fragile body on!"_

"_No one around here could afford you," said Craig irritably. "Chill dude. We're here."_

_Tweek glanced around, seeing nothing more than another disused house, the sign advertising its seller fallen and almost lost in the overgrown grass and perpetual snow. The windows and doors were boarded up and covered in grafitti, the white paint long since turned a dingy grey. It didn't need TLC as much as it needed a wrecking ball._

"_I don't..."_

"_Shh." Craig grabbed Tweek by the wrist and pulled him across the lawn to the rear of the house. "Come on."_

_Nervously, Tweek followed Craig into the sparse back yard and waited in the shadows, watching as Craig pulled aside a board that outwardly looked no different from the others, but the nails were loose and it gave way easily. The window behind it was large enough to fit through and had long since been broken, the glass that must have come from it nowhere in evidence._

_Craig indicated to the gap. "Come on."_

"_GAH! We can't! That's like, breaking and entering! Shit dude! We'll go to prison and you know what they do to guys like me in prison? I don't wanna be no ones prison bitch!"_

"_You're obsessed with buttsex and blowjobs tonight," said Craig, knowing exactly the right thing to say to embarrass Tweek into shutting up and entering the house. It worked. After a few more half-hearted protests, Tweek climbed through the window and took a look around, deducing they were in a kitchen._

"_There's probably rats," he whispered as Craig clambered through with an ease born of experience. "Rats have diseases, we could get rabies!"_

"_There's no rats," replied Craig in his normal volume. "Nothing for them to eat in here."_

_Looking around, Tweek realised that was probably true. Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to empty the house. There wasn't a stick of furniture remaining, save for the fitted units on the wall. He could see into the next room which looked equally bare, even the carpets having been pulled up. It was too dark to see much, but he couldn't detect the tell-tale signs of rodent crap either._

"_Why – gnk – why would you break in _here_?"_

_Craig opened one of the drawers and Tweek realised he had been wrong about there being nothing at all left – there were a couple of half-burned candles and a small, cheap torch in there. Strange things to have been left behind, but Tweek reasoned that Craig had left them there himself. Which meant that he had not only been before, but had been aware he was coming back._

"I_ didn't break in here," said Craig, looking vaguely amused as he flipped the torch on. Weak light filtered through the room, doing little to dispel the darkness. "My sister and her idiot friends decided it'd be the perfect place for a clubhouse – they were gonna clean it up and paint it pink or some crap like that. But then they got bored with it and went back to drinking at the back of Shakey's."_

"_She told you about it?"_

"_Nah, course not. She wrote it in her diary and I decided to have a look around. Those girls know about it, but no one else seems to and it's somewhere to go when I wanna clear my head. Better than freezing my ass off at Starks Pond and some dick wandering by and asking how I'm doing."  
_

_Tweek agreed with that sentiment. There was nowhere in town one could realistically go to be totally alone. Everywhere meant running into people and not even staying at home was safe, because parents could crash into the sanctuary of the bedroom at any time. Nowhere was undisturbed. _

"_It's not comfortable," warned Craig, wandering into the living room, which as Tweek had suspected, was entirely bare. "But it's quiet, it's warmer than outside and no one knows we're here."_

"_Perfect," said Tweek fervently. Right now, he could use a little space. Leaning against the bare wall, he let himself slide down until he was sat on the exposed wood of the floor, knees drawn up to his chest. Craig dropped heavily to the ground beside him, pulling out a sadly squashed packet of cigarettes and a cheap lighter. _

"_Dammit," he muttered, straightening out one of the cancer sticks as best he could and shaking the lighter vigorously to coax the remnants of the gas to ignite. Eventually it lit and he sat in silence, smoking and gazing into the dark corners of the room. _

_Tweek rested his head on his knees, finally beginning to relax a little. Quitting his job might not have been the most practical thing to do, but he'd been dreaming of it for a hella long time. Maybe it was worth the aggravation of dealing with pissy parents and job hunting just for the relief he got from imagining never working there again._

_The question was whether or not he would be able to keep his resolve. His parents didn't go for the shouting route, which might make him dig his heels in more; rather they cajoled and bargained and insinuated terrible things, over and over and over, never dropping the subject and never stopping for a break. Tweek had been known to give in just so they'd _shut up_ for five minutes, stop feeding his paranoia._

_He had to resist. He couldn't back down now, or he might as well chop off his balls and call himself a pussy for the rest of eternity._

_Craig ground out his cigarette and rolled onto his back, tucking his hands behind his head and closing his eyes. Tweek immediately leant over and shook him. "GAH! You're not going to sleep are you? You can't go to sleep!"_

"_I'm not going to sleep," replied Craig, not moving. "I'm just chilling out."_

"_Do you know how dirty you're going to be?"_

"_Yup." Craig turned his head slightly to look up at Tweek. "You feel better?"_

"_Yeah," said Tweek, a little surprised. He never realised how much some space and peace could help him get things into a little more perspective._

"_Ready to face the music?"_

"_N-not yet," replied Tweek, his left eye beginning to twitch again. "I gotta – gnk – make sure I don't let them talk me into going back to Harbucks."_

"_That's cool, we can stay as long as you want," said Craig amiably, pausing for a minute and letting out a small laugh, leaning up on his elbows. "I wouldn't worry about being talked around though."_

"_Huh?" _

"_You've got bigger balls than you think you do. Remember when we were in the hospital and Stan said my dad punched your mom in the hooters? You went for me like a frigging pitbull. Scared the shit outta me."_

"_I did?"  
_

"_Hell yeah! It was the most terrifying thing I ever saw until then and this from a guy who got attacked by Cartman's ass the day before. You put up with a lot of shit, but when you make your mind up it stays made up."_

_Tweek smiled slightly, flattered, gazing intently at the floor. He'd always assumed his friends thought of him as a wuss. _

"_Seriously Tweek." Craig sat up properly and put a hand on the side of Tweek's face, a couple of fingers under his chin to force him to look up. For the first time in he didn't know how long, Tweek went almost completely still, his twitching fading to all but unnoticeable. Craig's expression was fiercely intense, as if he were trying to convey his seriousness through every means he had. "You don't have to work in Harbucks. You can do anything you wanna do."_

_In that moment, Tweek believed him, one hundred per cent, really believed for the first time that he might not be destined to the future he had dreaded. Craig had said so and that was a promise he could take to the bank. _

_So Tweek leaned forward, resting a hand on Craig's shoulder and kissed him, light enough for the other boy to back off, because a part of him couldn't conceive any other outcome, forcefully enough so his intentions were clear – committing himself to a course of action because this was how he was going to be from now on. Because it was what he wanted to do. _

_But there was no backing off, no hesitation even. Craig deepened the kiss right away, snaking his arms around Tweek's back to pull him closer. Tweek allowed himself to be embraced, not caring about the dirt or the job or the future, forgetting about it all._

_Much later on, Tweek would think back to that night as his first taste of control, of finally having the things he'd always wanted and truly imagining he would be able to fight for them and win. In that, he was sadly mistaken. _

_Three months later, control was gone. The house was gone. And Tweek was gone too._


	4. Because No One Likes Prophecies

**Author Note: **Huge thanks to Chels and The Brat Prince for the reviews! I'm so happy that people are liking the story so far, especially since this is the story that has got me over about eighteen months of a real reluctance to sit down and write anything at all, not writers block so much as it had stopped being fun. AEBH has made me remember how to have fun writing again and I'm really enjoying myself. The story will run to about fifteen chapters if all goes according to plan – I keep envisioning some of the crazy shit the three mercenaries might get up to and have to force myself not to go on a tangent and put it all in there. I should really stop rambling in these notes, I know. Enjoy!

**&*&*&*&*&*&**

Gregory strolled into the house almost an hour later, raising an eyebrow at the empty beer bottles but saying nothing. It was unusual for any of the three to have a drink while they were working on a mission, but already it seemed like the circumstances were pretty unusual.

Craig noticed the look and scowled. They'd hardly gone on a bender after all and the whole thing had been sprung on them pretty quickly. Fortunately, Gregory declined to comment, perhaps realising there was some real tension in the room.

"I assume you know we've been hired?" he said without preamble.

"No duh," replied Kenny. "What's going on?"

"I just spoke with Professor William Chalmers, whom I understand is Kyle's tutor." Gregory looked to Kenny for confirmation, although he didn't need it. "They're interested in locating one Tweek Tweak. I believe you two know him already?"

Kenny nodded and Craig scowled blackly at the wall, wondering what Gregory knew about the situation. If he was as well researched into the past lives of his employees as Craig imagined, then Tweek's name may well have come up in his police record, although it wasn't a given.

"I met him but I'm afraid I don't remember him well," continued Gregory, blithely ignoring the atmosphere in the room. "I don't suppose you know of anyone in town who might still be in contact with him?"

"There isn't anyone," snapped Craig.

Gregory nodded. "In that case, we'll have to find him the old-fashioned way, which is why I've arranged for our favourite computer hacker to meet us here. He'll be over shortly."

"What exactly does this Professor _want_ with Tweek?" asked Craig aggressively.

If Gregory was put out by the other man's abruptness, he didn't show it. "He tells me that he merely wants to establish if it's the same person he thinks it is and speak to him. Our job would be to find him, not to retrieve him or make any kind of contact with him."

Craig snorted rudely but Christophe spoke before he could do anything more. "And 'ow far do you trust zis man?"

"How far do you think?" Gregory quirked his lips into a smile and leaned against the wall. "I'm not fond of the idea of finding Tweek only for his life to be put in danger. We'll run a background check on the Professor too and find out what we can about this research of his – I assume you can get that information from Kyle?"

"Sure," said Kenny, but there was a slight frown on his face. "I just hope he isn't sworn to secrecy or some crap like that. He thinks the sun shines out of this guys backside."

"A prophecy." Craig leant back against the couch, arms folded. "Huh. I hate that shit. The _last_ time we got involved in one, half the people in this room ended up stranded in Peru fighting guinea pigs."

"Zey were everywhere," said Christophe with a slight smirk of recollection. "I fed ze one I saw all my 'ome school books and zen disposed of it."

Kenny raised an eyebrow. "How?"

"Semtex."

Craig momentarily forgot his own woes. "You blew up a giant guinea pig with Semtex?"

"_Oui. _Muzzer was traumatised by ze mess and made me spend a week cleaning ze garden."

Craig shook his head. "Mole, you are a sick fucker."

"Well, 'ow was I to know I 'ad to serenade it with pan pipes?"

"If there's one thing we _do_ know about prophecies, it's that they're hard to avert," said Gregory in an attempt to bring the conversation back on track.

"Ze American-Canadian war was prophesied and we all were involved in zat," Christophe reminded them. "And half ze people in ze room ended up _dead_."

Kenny realised everyone was looking at him. "What?"

They were saved from responding by a discreet buzzer going off – someone waiting at the gates that were the only safe entrance to the property. Gregory exited the room to go and let in the newcomer, hand unconsciously dropping to his waist to check for a weapon in the unlikely event it wasn't the person they were expecting.

Kenny acted as if they hadn't been disturbed. "Craig was involved in both incidents too, it's not just me y'know."

"Hey, all I did in the war was sing a couple of gay little songs. You were the one cosying up with Satan."

"And all I did in Peru was play the drums! You were the one shooting eye beams like the frigging Terminator."

"Well, we can at least agree that we both – all three of us – have incredibly shitty luck when it comes to prophecies."

"Oh yeah."

"_Oui_."

"How likely is it that Kyle was wrong about the whole thing?" Craig looked hopeful for a moment, which faded as Kenny shook his head. "Shit."

Christophe rolled his eyes. "You both need to focus. Zis is just another job and we do what we 'ave to without worrying about who is involved. Zis isn't fucking kiddy hour, zis is real life so act like professional fucking mercenaries." He focused on Craig. "And stop theenking with your dick."

Craig gave the Mole a murderous stare and flipped him off with both hands. Christophe refused to look away and for a moment, Kenny was worried he'd have to distract them somehow or get in between them if they decided to take things further. Fortunately for him, Gregory arrived back at that moment with their guest, clearing his throat pointedly to get the attention of the pair.

Kenny leapt up, trying to diffuse the tension in the room by wildly overcompensating, throwing his arm around the newcomer. "Hey! My second-favourite Broflovski! How's it going?"

"Fine," said Ike, extracting himself and giving curious looks at Craig and Christophe, who had put their stand-off aside for the time being at least. "Is it coincidence that Kyle called me to tell me he was gonna be in town for a while – staying at a motel no less – and you guys need my services at the same time?"

"Not exactly," said Kenny.

"I knew it." Ike had brought his own laptop and went into the kitchen, setting it up on the table. The screen saver came to life and Ike quickly accessed his wireless internet connection. "What do you want?"

"A few things," replied Gregory. "Routine background check first I think. Professor William Chalmers."

"Kyle's tutor?" Ike looked intrigued, but began typing rapidly, opening several windows and working too fast for any of the other men to keep up with what he was doing. "Someone might want to get me a printer, I'll make you copies of this stuff."

Grumbling under his breath, Craig went off to his own room and retrieved his printer, arriving back a couple of minutes later to find that Ike had mostly completed his search already.

"There's not much to find," said Ike as he connected the wires into the back of his laptop – no one else save for him was allowed to touch the sacred machine. "I mean, there's a lot of stuff, but it's pretty standard. Forty-five years old, married, two children. Graduated in the top one per cent of his class, does a lot of field research as well as lecturing at the University, he's got tenure. Written two books on ancient civilisations, both considered essential reading for students. No police record, no suspicions of misconduct at the Uni, no evidence of secret mistresses or leather fetishes. His favourite band's Led Zeppelin."

"How did you get _that_?" asked Kenny.

Ike's look suggested he thought the blonde was pretty dumb. "Facebook. Duh."

Kenny scowled. "I hope you didn't just check that."

"No, I also accessed medical and financial records. No outstanding debts, no bailiffs at the door threatening to break his legs, no suspicious transactions, no lingering STDs and he doesn't have the AIDS. Looks like this guy's a real straight arrow."

"Humph," muttered Kenny, unconvinced.

"Face it Kenny, not everyone has some deep dark secret," said Ike, printing off copies of the information he'd found. "What else do you want me to check?"

"We need to find someone," Gregory told him. "Tweek Tweak. He used to live in South Park."

"I remember him," said Ike, tapping away at the keyboard rapidly. "Used to hang out with Kyle and Stan while Kenny was dead. There was some scan..." He trailed off, giving Craig a shifty look before returning to the screen and changing the subject. "Huh, look at that."

Craig leaned in for a closer look. "What?"

"The initial searches showed up nothing. It's not unheard of, but it's not usual either."

"Tweek was always kinda paranoid," said Craig patiently. "He would have tried to avoid showing up on a computer system."

"All isn't lost," said Ike. "You can't do much without showing up on a system somewhere. No debts, no credit cards, no criminal record..."

Craig muttered something too quiet to hear, but Ike ignored it. "Ta-da. Found something. Took the high school equivalency out of school, passed, just. There's a Colorado address but... oh."

"Oh? What oh?" Craig tried to lean in closer to the screen again.

Ike glared over his shoulder. "Do you mind? You're sucking all the air outta my personal space!"

"Humph." Craig leaned back a fraction of an inch and Ike sighed, continuing scanning the information.

"House is sold. Um... I found his bank records and that's got a home address and work location. Still in Colorado but it's a long way from South Park. Pretty normal stuff, wages go in, bits go out here and there. Huh. Not much going out though and there are two accounts. One of them he doesn't use, but there's a _lot_ of money in it."

"Where would Tweek get money from?" asked Kenny. "He win the lottery or something?"

Ike was quiet for a minute or so, the only sound the tapping of the keys. "Nope, looks like he inherited it. Both parents are deceased. Some kind of car accident according to the obituary, but there's not much information on it."

"Wait, Tweek's parents are _dead_?" Craig tried once more to lean over Ike's shoulder, the younger man shoving him away irritably. "When?"

"Um, a little over two years ago," said Ike. "He sold the house, got the savings and then just left all the money sitting in the bank in a separate account. Hasn't bought his own place and he doesn't withdraw enough for rent."

"So, what's the address then?" asked Kenny.

"I'm working on it. Here. Third floor apartment, seems to be a residential neighbourhood by the look. Registered to Elliot Bolton, accountant, thirty-two. Unmarried, no kids. Property's not rented out, looks like he's living there too."

Everyone in the room was suddenly trying very hard not to look at Craig, who was attempting to appear nonchalant. "Can we get anything on this guy?"

"Hmmm, give me a minute." Ike went back through his programmes and did the same checks on the new name. "Pays the mortgage on that address, no others listed, no debts, no criminal record, nothing that raises any flags, except – I'm not sure if it's relevant."

Gregory leaned on the table. "Tell us anyway."

"Tweek was the kid with the coffee fetish, right?"

"Yeah," confirmed Kenny.

"Well, according to the employment history of this Bolton guy, until a couple of years ago, he was working in the same job for a different firm – Harbucks coffee to be exact."

Kenny shrugged. "They probably met through Tweek's parents then."

"Uh... a background check on the parents shows them transferring to the area when Tweek was seventeen and taking over the local branch. That's probably a good guess."

"So, we know where Tweek lives now," said Craig as Ike began printing out all the information he'd found. "We've got a vague idea what he's been doing the last few years. We know where he works and who's looking for him. We just don't know _why_ everyone's so sure that he's part of some stupid Peruvian prophecy."

"I'll let Kyle deal with that one," said Ike, shutting down his computer. "I've gotta bail. Have fun tracking down Tweek and don't forget to pay me."

"I wish I could play on the net for half an hour and get paid a bundle," muttered Kenny as Ike left.

"You get to see the world and have lots of exciting experiences instead Kenny." Gregory gave him a sardonic grin.

"I go in a plane, arrive by parachute and go home in a bodybag. Sometimes two or three bodybags and that one time, a bucket. Forgive me for considering a safer line of work."

"If we get going in the next hour, we can tag the apartment tonight," said Craig.

Kenny looked startled. "Eager aren't you?"

"I just want to get this over with so we can get back to our normal lives!"

"We leave tomorrow," said Gregory firmly. "For one thing, we still have to rendezvous with Kyle. Chalmers told me that the group is arriving in South Park at midday tomorrow, so I assume he'll be coming with them."

Kenny nodded. "Yeah, and whatever he decides to say in front of the all-knowing Professor, we could do with getting him alone to double check."

"And we need to work out a strategy before we do anything else." Gregory gave Craig a look that clearly said there should be no arguments. Craig didn't protest, merely sat in Ike's vacated seat and rested his elbows on the table.

"Chalmers wants results within the week," began Gregory briskly. "Preferably much sooner. When the team arrive, Kenny, you'll go with me and we get some information about the carvings."

"Why would 'e tell us?" asked Christophe. "It 'as nothing to do with us why zey want 'im found."

"Because he's claiming his motives lie in academia and since we're already aware of the reasons for the field study and we have no interest in the findings outside of what it means for our mission, he'll probably be quite forthcoming. Although when I spoke to him he laughed at the thought of a prophecy. He's being honest about his reasons."

Kenny tilted his head curiously. "Suspiciously honest?"

"No Kenny, not suspiciously honest. But I want you to speak to Kyle after and find if there's anything else we need to know that Professor Chalmers neglected to mention. I think we've all learned the hard way not to dismiss these things out of hand. _If_ those carvings are accurate, then things in South Park are about to get extremely active. Perhaps we can stop it before that happens."

Gregory picked up a printout that Ike had left, then looked over at Craig. "You're surveillance. Go out there tomorrow, find this apartment and see if he really does live there. There's a work address here too, stake that out as well."

"Is he a barista?" asked Kenny.

"No," said Craig without even thinking about it. Kenny shot him a vaguely amused look and Craig flipped him off.

"He's an archivist," said Gregory.

Kenny blinked. "What, he goes around listening to the Sex Pistols and spitting on people? How much does that gig pay?"

"That's an anarchist. An archivist stores or retrieves documents for a company. It's quite tedious and there's very little spitting. Craig, follow him around for a while – out of sight. Do _not_ approach him. I understand he's somewhat nervous and we don't want to upset him. He's perfectly safe. Take some pictures, find out where he goes when he's not working. Christophe, you go with Craig in the morning, but you're purely backup. And both of you, _covert mission_. Don't let Tweek see you, don't let this Elliot Bolton see you."

"I know ze meaning of covert mission," growled Christophe, lighting another cigarette.

Everyone looked meaningfully at Craig, who scowled under the scrutiny. "I'll be good. Get the pictures, get the details, don't be seen. I'm not gonna screw it up!"

"Kenny and I will join you just as soon as we're done here." Gregory got to his feet. "And if that's everything, I'll take my leave."

"See ya," said Kenny absently, picking up the nearest printout – details of Professor Chalmers academic career – and glancing through the information. Gregory shook his head slightly and left through the front door.

Craig reached across the table and snatched Christophe's cigarettes, looking defiant at the other man's glare. "I left mine in the other room!"

"One of zese days, I will quit and zen you will 'ave to buy your own."

"And I don't need a a babysitter either."

"I do not see 'ow ze two are related."

"Think of it this way," said Kenny. "If we do this right the first time, we can avert the apocalypse and have the whole of next weekend free!"

Craig glanced over at him. "And if we _don't_ do it right the first time?"

"Well... we'll have to cancel the drunken house party and you know the strippers don't give the deposit back. But hey, it's still better than giant guinea pigs, right?"

With a smile, Craig nodded. "Anything's better than that. I'm gonna go sort out my cameras and stuff ready."

"I'm going to check on ze perimeter," said Christophe, getting up and heading out of the rear door. Craig seemed cheered and ready to get on with the mission without letting whatever personal bullshit was involved get in the way. Whatever the issues were, Kenny seemed to know something about them and he could get the details out of him later, but for now, there were some other questions he wanted to ask.

Skulking around the grounds their house was built on, Christophe carefully avoided the many traps that were lying in wait for the unwary. As far as most people knew, they were just a bunch of survivalist nuts, like their closest neighbours Jimbo and Ned, which accounted for the precautions. In actuality, they had made a lot of enemies and although none of those enemies knew enough to track them here, it never hurt to be careful. Kenny had insisted the precautions were non-lethal, which Christophe had to grudgingly admit was a good idea since all they had caught to date were a couple of kids, a few of their drunken friends and one time, Professor Chaos, although he'd gotten the wrong house.

The house was well lit but the surroundings were dark and Christophe made sure to keep it that way by avoiding the motion-sensitive lights. The night was quiet and there was nothing to see, nothing out of order – but he just knew that Gregory hadn't gone yet.

"Everything secure?"

_Shit._ He hated it when Gregory did that, spoke in the darkness and then allowed himself to be seen, looking as though he hadn't been hiding at all.

Sure enough, when Christophe turned, Gregory was leaning against one of only three trees on the property, as casually as if they had arranged the meeting. Which, he supposed, they had. He had expected to find Gregory still around and the other man was certainly expecting him.

"Why are we not merely finding zis Tweek and taking ze money?"

"Straight to the point." Gregory frowned slightly, as if musing on what to say next. "It's like I said, since Kyle mentioned the carvings specifically indicated both Tweek and South Park, it would be prudent to avoid trouble, if we can, and be compensated for it."

"Bool."

Gregory gave a one-shouldered shrug. "It's true. But since it's relevant, what do you know about Craig's more, uh, unfortunate history?"

"A little. Zere is gossip, it is a small town, but 'e 'as not spoken of it."

"Yes. Kenny attended school with both Craig and Tweek, so I imagine that's why he knows more on the subject. And of course, he has a way of getting information out of people without them realising it. I can't see it being a fond memory."

Christophe scowled. "Are you going to tell me or do I 'ave to beat it out of Kenny?"

Gregory flicked some imaginary dirt from his shirt sleeve. "Craig and Tweek have a history. At some point in high school they began a, uh..."

"Pounding ass?"

"Not what I was going to say, but thank you for the apropos phrase, if not the mental images. Anyway, they were discovered at the scene of a suspected arson attack, some abandoned house. Craig took the blame and spent three months in a juvenile facility. Tweek's family left town shortly after the incident, while Craig was still incarcerated."

Christophe pulled his cigarettes from his pocket and took one from the packet, mulling over the information while he lit up. It explained why Craig had been so freaked out by the thought of finding Tweek. "So, 'e took ze fall and zen 'e got dumped?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"No wonder 'e is pissed off." Christophe removed the cigarette from his mouth and let it smoulder between his fingers for a moment. "So, why would you allow Craig to be involved?"

"This is surveillance work, that's Craig's strong point."

"Me or Kenny could do it just as well."

"Perhaps, but Craig knows how Tweek thinks and that could be useful."

"_Non_. It 'as been years and 'e might 'ave changed. Also, Tweek is more likely to recognise Craig zen 'e is one of us, if 'e catches sight of ze surveillance. Zis isn't about ze best man for ze job."

Gregory raised an eyebrow, looking mildly amused. "No? What is it about then?"

"Either, it is to toughen 'im up and force 'im to set aside 'is emotions while 'e works, or you 'ave been watching too much of zose daytime talk shows zat Kenny likes so much." Christophe replaced the cigarette in his mouth and smirked around it. "You think 'e needs _closure_."

"I'm sure you could put more scorn into that word, if you really tried."

Christophe didn't reply, dropping his cigarette to the ground and stepping on it. Gregory paused for a moment to see if he would speak and when nothing was forthcoming, continued. "I need a team that isn't bogged down with personal issues when we work. This is a simple surveillance, I'm sure Craig can handle it without letting his past affect his judgement. And if he can't, it's better that we find out now rather than later. That's why I organised it this way."

"Uh-huh." Christophe's tone clearly indicated disbelief.

"It is!" insisted Gregory, then looked annoyed at his own defensiveness.

Christophe grinned, pleased with himself for breaking through Gregory's calm aura if only for a second. "I'm going to complete ze perimeter checks. Don't forget to set ze alarm on your way out."

He strolled off, pulling out another cigarette and smirking as he felt the irritated glare of his boss boring into his back.


	5. Zombies Need Breakfast Too

**Author Note: **Huge thanks to Hypothisos, Chels, The Brat Prince and Hayze-chan for the awesome reviews! And many thanks to everyone who favourited and alerted the story too. I've been having an awesome time with it and I'm really glad you all like it!

**&*&*&*&*&*&**

"You can't make it?" Kyle paused in the process of unpacking his rucksack, the cell phone loose against his ear, a disappointed frown on his face.

"Dude, I tried," said Stan, the mountain locale making his voice echo through the phone. "Couldn't swap shifts at the bar though and I've a ton of work to do as well. You did kinda spring it on me."

"It kinda got sprung on me too."

"I know, I know. I'd only be bored anyway, with you working all the time anyway. If you get some free time, go bug Kenny."

Kyle's frown deepened. He hadn't gone into the specifics of why he was in South Park and what the project entailed. He'd been hoping to get an unbiased opinion from Stan, but there was no way he was going into detail over the phone.

Stan's voice brought him back to the moment. "How's South Park's grandest motel?"

Laughing, Kyle glanced around. "Um, functional. Bed, bathroom, drawers and a TV."

"At least you can keep up with the latest news in town."

"Yeah. The last report I looked at when I was here was read by an albino with a cat on his head. I think they do it so you're too traumatised to notice how screwy the news is."

"Hire some blue movies instead."

"Dude!"

"You're right. In that motel, probably they show security camera footage of Cartman's mom."

"I really didn't need to think about that!"

"I bet she's been there," taunted Stan. "Probably in that very room..."

"It's a single!"

"So?"

"Urgh, gross Stan. I've gotta sleep here y'know!"

"Yeah, how's your mom taking the news that you're not staying at home?"

"Pretty well, since it's a school thing. I had to promise to go over every day though."

"Did she make you invite the Professor for dinner?"

Kyle went white. "You don't think she would, do you? That'd be too embarrassing!"

"I'm just reminding you to make sure the conversation doesn't go there." Stan paused. "Seen anyone else since you got to town?"

"I've been here twenty minutes. I wasn't paying attention when we drove in and we came straight to the motel. I haven't seen anyone."

"Uh-huh."

Kyle wasn't taken in by the nonchalant tone of his best friends voice. What Stan really wanted to do was demand news of his ex-girlfriend Henrietta, whom he had split with before their gang went to their respective colleges or jobs. He liked to pretend he wasn't interested in what she was doing beyond minor curiosity, but he certainly didn't fool his circle of friends with his pseudo-casual inquiries.

"If I see her, I'll tell you."

"See who?" Stan's confusion was so obviously fake, even over the phone, that Kyle wanted to laugh but didn't. Pining after someone you couldn't have was no laughing matter to the person involved, as he knew all too well.

"Never mind. I've gotta go finish unpacking."

"Yeah, wouldn't want all your shit to get rumpled."

"Fuck you."

"Say hi to Kenny for me."

"Will do."

"And tell Craig he still owes me twenty bucks for beating his ass on guitar hero."

"Because you're _really_ going to see that money," replied Kyle, thinking that Craig might not be in the most receptive mood at present.

"Oh, I'll get it. See ya."

"Later dude." Kyle dropped the phone on the bed and went back to unpacking. He wanted it over and done with so he could get on with the study. Much as he didn't relish the thought of being involved with a possible awkward reunion between Craig and Tweek, not to mention the unsettling chance of Armageddon, he was going to make the best of the opportunity he'd been given.

In his own apartment, in another part of the state, Stan lay back on his ratty couch staring meditatively at his cell phone before scrolling through the names in the memory and calling Kenny. The call went straight through to the answerphone and Stan cut it off without leaving a message. It had to be turned off and Kenny only ever turned off his phone when he was doing something involving the shit he and his housemates did to earn money – and he knew exactly what they did, in spite of Kenny's attempts to be vague.

Which meant that Kenny was out mercenary-ing. But Kyle had specifically said that Kenny was in South Park.

_So maybe it's a last minute thing_, he thought as he tried to distract himself by turning to his own studies. But there was something bothering him about the whole situation. Maybe a visit down to South Park was in order after all.

**~:~**

Kenny immediately disliked Professor William Chalmers.

He wasn't anything like he'd envisioned when Kyle spoke of his tutor. For one thing, Chalmers was much younger than Kenny had thought he would be. For another, he was attractive in that smooth, distinguished way that was a million miles from Kenny's own rumpled charm. His modulated tones spoke of education and his clothing and grooming spoke of a comfortable wage.

The worst part was, he was friendly and open, which made Kenny decide he was just a great actor hiding something.

_Try to look presentable_, Gregory had told him over the phone that morning, although Kenny was pretty sure that their boss wasn't really calling about his wardrobe so much as he was checking that none of his orders had been disobeyed. He need not have worried. Craig had decided to play the whole deal in a professionally detached manner and was following instructions to the letter. He and Christophe had gone that morning, while Kenny sat around waiting to question the guy paying the outrageous fees they demanded.

To Kenny, presentable meant black jeans and a shirt. He didn't see much point in spending all his money on clothes when he spent half his life fighting or crawling through slime or being killed. Gregory hadn't commented, although he _had_ looked slightly pained. But the Professor managed to make a similar outfit look like he was dressed up for dinner. The four met up in a café beside the motel and when Chalmers rose to shake their hands, Kenny had to fight to avoid scowling. Sliding into the booth in his inexpensive attire, he felt – well, he felt like ill-educated white trash at a middle class MENSA meeting.

Shaking off the negative vibe, he checked out the Professor. The guy wasn't obviously carrying a weapon, but then Kenny didn't look as if he was packing either, although a pat-down would reveal a number of hidden equalisers. The guy might look more at home with quadratic equations than guns, but looks could be deceiving, as anyone who had been viciously attacked by a cute squirrel wielding a nagitana could attest to.

Kyle grinned at him and Kenny shot a wink back, focusing on the discussion at hand.

"I decided it best not to involve the other students on my team in this part of the study," Chalmers was saying. "Considering the, uh, unusual nature of our tactics."

_Crap,_ thought Kenny, _he talks like Gregory_. In circles, using words to confuse the issue. Kenny never trusted anyone who disguised their true intentions with fancy language – except Gregory, who'd proven himself over the years they'd been working together. Words could make any crazed act sound reasonable and sane, as anyone who'd spent any amount of time with Cartman could attest to.

"All we want is to find Mr Tweak," continued Chalmers and for a moment, Kenny considered telling him that the elder Tweak was dead, until he realised he was talking about Tweek himself. "As part of our research and for the sake of completeness, it behoves us to know that this person exists and he is the one on the carvings. It's very unlikely, but Kyle tells me the resemblance is uncanny."

_Behoves_ thought Kenny sourly. _Shit on toast._

"I see." Gregory steepled his fingers, looking thoughtful. "May I enquire about the carvings?"

"Is it relevant?"

Gregory smiled. "Well, since we're all in South Park at this moment in time, I'd like to know exactly what it is that's supposed to happen."

Nodding, Chalmers opened his laptop and accessed a file containing photos of the carvings. Since he seemed blasé about the group seeing his desktop, Kenny figured the illegal animal porn was probably well hidden.

"This is the carving that we believe to be Tweek Tweak," said Chalmers. Kenny smirked. It _did_ look a lot like Tweek, right down to the little shake lines around it. "And these are the ones which seems to foretell something major happening."

The carving showed Tweek again, turned sideways so it looked like he was lying down. What seemed to be a poor rendering of some sharp object was sticking from his chest and there were seven more figures above him, faces blank save for the mouths, which had been carved into smiles.

The next carving showed the same seven figures, holding a globe between them. The globe looked small and fragile in comparison to the people holding it.

"Wait," said Kenny. "You think someone's going to _kill_ Tweek?"

"I doubt it," said Chalmers, with what Kenny thought was patronising reassurance. "These carvings are a recent discovery and they're not widely known. Also, the carvings clearly indicate South Park and Mr Tweak isn't here, is he?"

"What exactly does this final carving represent?" Gregory's tone was casual but Kenny thought he had a good idea of what they meant.

"The oversized people tend to imply they possess either great power or immortality," said Chalmers, his voice taking on a lecturing tone. Kenny rolled his eyes. "The globe seems to imply that these seven will be rulers – literally holding the fate of the world in their hands."

"All this from stabbing Tweek?" Kenny looked sceptical.

Chalmers looked briefly sombre and then gave a cheery smile. Kenny hid his own puzzlement at the attitude. The Professor had been gently mocking of the entire supposition but that quickly hidden look – it had been something akin to concern.

"I'm aware of how ridiculous it is," said Chalmers jovially. "But scholars are taking an interest because none of this can happen until certain – unusual events have occurred and so far, many of them actually have."

Gregory looked interested. "And these are?"

Clearly in full teacher mode, the Professor began bringing up pictures of some other carvings on his laptop, too busy to notice Kenny imitating sleep behind his back. "The American-Canadian war – did I say something funny?"

"No sir," said Kyle, trying to keep a straight face.

"The guinea pig invasion. A rampaging Mickey Mouse. The second coming of Elvis. And the inexplicable fashion of wearing ones pyjamas to go clubbing. All of these things have come to pass."

Kenny looked bemused by the sudden serious intonation. "So, if all these things have 'come to pass', then is there anything else we should be looking for?"

"There are seven signs that the time for this is drawing near." The Professor seemed to realise he was getting too serious and smiled. "It's all most likely a coincidence. Or perhaps a really clever hoax. The carvings haven't been officially verified as ancient Peruvian yet."

"Coincidence," mused Gregory. "What are the other two signs?"

"The sixth seems to indicate some kind of sickness that turns its victims into the living dead," said Chalmers with a laugh. "But that brand of sauce was taken off the market years ago."

There was a crash as the window beside them erupted. A man picked himself up off the floor, his eyes glazed and white, his flesh torn and weirdly bloodless. Letting out a moan, he stumbled toward them, arms outstretched.

With a sigh, Kenny drew a gun from where he had it hidden and shot the man in the head. The powerful bullet took off most of the top of his skull and with a final groan, he went down for good.

Holstering his weapon, Kenny glanced back at Chalmers. "What's the seventh sign?"

**~:~**

"Dude, I know it's terrible and everything, but if this prophecy really does come true, then my paper is going to kick _ass_!" Kyle beamed at Kenny, clearly delighted.

Kenny shook his head, leaning against the car and fumbling in his pocket for a cigarette. "Assuming you live through it."

"Yeah." Kyle frowned, glancing back to the café where they had just eaten. Chalmers was paying the bill and Gregory had vanished around the corner, apparently to give them time for a quick private conversation. "You'll make sure nothing happens to Tweek, right?"

"I'll make sure," said Kenny. "No one's gonna hurt him."

"I thought being out of South Park meant getting away from the insanity. Looks like it just follows us all."

"Is there anything else we should know?" asked Kenny abruptly. "Anything your buddy in there decided not to mention?"

"No," said Kyle. "That's everything. There's nothing more to tell. He was straight down the line with you. Why?"

"No reason." Kenny blew out a perfect smoke ring. "Just making sure. You know I'm not smart enough to work that shit out."

"Kenny..." Kyle frowned, wondering what was bugging Kenny, but put it down to concern over the situation. He'd never seen Kenny in work mode before and he was certainly intense. He'd been moody all morning and now he seemed wholly focused on the job at hand. It was different to the way he acted when just hanging out – but it wasn't entirely unexpected either.

"Where are you going?" Kyle settled on asking.

"We're meeting up with Craig and Christophe. They're staking out Tweek."

"You found him already?"

"Computer records," said Kenny, concentrating on staring over Kyle's shoulder and not meeting his eyes. "We know a really good hacker."

"It's Ike, isn't it?"

Kenny looked startled. "He said you weren't to know!"

"Dude, he's my little brother. I know exactly the kind of stuff he gets involved in. The only reason he isn't asking to work with you guys full time is because of our mom."

"Hmmm. If Ike was one of us, we'd have to get a bigger house."

"There's no law that says you all have to live in the same house – Gregory doesn't. Besides, you've got a spare room."

"That's where you guys crash when you come visit and get too drunk to leave."

"Yeah. I'd have to share with you."

"I hog the covers."

"I'd fight you for them."

Their eyes met for a moment, then Kenny dropped the cigarette to the floor and ground it out with his shoe. "We couldn't have found Tweek so fast if Ike hadn't managed to get the records. I'm surprised you didn't just ask him."

"Well – you saw the carvings. I figured Tweek could do with someone watching his back. Where the hell has he been hiding anyway?"

Kenny told him, keeping an eye on the broken café window. Chalmers was heading for the door and he didn't trust the man as far as he could throw him, he didn't want him to know of Tweek's whereabouts until Gregory deemed it okay.

"Keep it to yourself," he muttered as Chalmers exited the café and walked up to them, jovial smile firmly in place.

Gregory appeared beside them, none of them having realised he was even approaching. "We have work to do. We'll do our best to find Tweek."

"Thank you," said Chalmers, shaking hands with Gregory. Kenny shoved his own hands into his pockets, hoping that he wasn't next. He needn't have worried; Chalmers seemed to pick up on his discomfort and didn't offer his hand.

Gregory unlocked the car with the remote and Kenny opened the back door, taking his hoody from the seat and putting it on gratefully.

Chalmers rested a hand on Kyle's shoulder. "Well, we have a lot of work to do ourselves. Let's meet with the rest of the team."

_Smarmy bastard_ thought Kenny, watching through narrowed eyes. Kyle grinned at the Professor and as they headed away, Kenny flipped his hood up and climbed into the car. Craig wasn't the only one who wanted this job over with in a hurry.

Gregory started the engine and pulled out into traffic. "I noticed you don't trust the good Professor's motives."

"I don't," snapped Kenny. "He takes that prophecy a lot more seriously than he lets on."

"Well, a zombie coming through the window is a powerful persuader."

"Zombies, huh. Been there, done that."

Gregory shot a look at him. "There were zombies in South Park before?"

"Yeah. It was before you moved here, I think."

"How did you deal with them then?"

"Kyle chopped me in half with a chainsaw and everyone went back to normal."

Shaking his head, Gregory gave him a sympathetic smile. "Things really aren't going your way at the moment, are they?"

Slouching down in his seat, Kenny folded his arms. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

**~:~**

The possibility of something odd happening in South Park and his friends being caught up in it – again – nagged at Stan the whole day and when he finally got a few moments to himself that evening, he tried calling Kenny again. This time, the phone rang and it was quickly answered.

"Hey Stan."

Stan frowned. Kenny sounded both distracted and serious, not his usual irreverent self. "Hey Ken, you okay?"

"Yeah – wait, hang on." There was the sound of a muted conversation in the background and a few moments relative quiet before Kenny came back. "Okay, just had to get out."

"How's things in South Park?"

"I dunno. I'm not in South Park."

"Don't tell me. You're at a top secret location doing espionage work."

"You got it." Kenny chuckled and Stan heard the snap of a lighter in the background. He was actually relieved to hear that Kenny wasn't home. It explained the earlier silence and if he wasn't working in South Park, then he and Kyle probably weren't involved in something bizarre.

"Too bad dude, with Kyle being in town and all. I guess this means he'll have to hang out with his study buddies."

"It's not gonna get _that_ bad," snapped Kenny with uncharacteristic ill-humour. "I'll only be gone for a couple of days."

"Okay, okay," said Stan, trying to smooth the situation. "I take it you met them and didn't like them."

"Not all of them, just that professor Kyle's got a hot nut for."

"_What?"_

"That Chalmers guy. Come on, he never stops talking about him, it's pretty obvious."

Stan closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Kenny, you are so fucking stupid."

"Huh?"

"Nothing, forget it. I'm trying to get back for a few days, if I can get someone to swap some shifts with me at work."

"That'd be cool, but I might be kinda caught up with things."

"I thought you were only going to be out of town a couple of days."

"Yeah. I can't really go into it over the phone. Don't sulk Stan, I'll still have time for you!"

Stan wanted to ask some more questions, like what was going on in South Park that Kenny might be 'caught up' in, but before he could ask, Kenny continued. "I gotta go now, I'm getting the evil eye through the window. You'd better get away from work."

"I'll try."

"Try harder. Just go to bed with the boss or something."

"Sick dude! My boss is fifty-five and he wears this dirty vest that smells like sweat and old hamburgers!"

"You're so _picky_. All you need to do is get blind drunk."

"Fuck you McCormick, there isn't that much beer in the state. Try not to get killed this time and say hi to Kyle for me when you get back, okay?"

"Will do. Later."

"Later Kenny."

Stan ended the call and put the phone aside, trying to repress the disturbing images of his boss that Kenny had planted in his head. He was becoming convinced that something was going on, but it was hard to tell when neither Kenny nor Kyle would go into detail over the phone. If he was going to find anything out, he would have to ask them face to face – and _that_ meant a quick trip to South Park.

Now all he had to do was find a way to convince his boss that _didn't _involved getting drunk and going to bed with him.


	6. I Know Where You Live

**Author Note: **As always, huge thanks to everyone who reviewed – Hypothisos, Chels, The Brat Prince and Kenneth22. You guys rock! Hope you all enjoy this chapter, it's leaning away from the humour and toward the angst. I blame the blonde.

**&*&*&*&*&**

The mornings first cup of coffee in his hand, Tweek looked out of the window and noticed the motorcycle idling at the red light. The rider held it up by leaning on one denim-clad leg, head protected by a black helmet, a battered leather jacket protecting him from the wind when he kicked it into high gear.

Craig had spoken frequently about getting a motorcycle. Not that he was a big fan of the machines or even much of an adrenaline junkie; to Craig it was about the image, doing things with a bit of style and a car just didn't hold the same 'kiss my ass' connotations.

_One day I'll buy me a soft tail classic and some leathers and get the hell out of this quiet mountain town,_ he would tell Tweek confidentially, usually after some altercation with a teacher or parent. _Head for the big city, away from all this shit._

Which 'big city' he had in mind, he never said, although Tweek suspected it was a lot further than Denver. The thought had filled him with anxiety; Craig leaving South Park would mean leaving _him_.

Except that it had been the other way around. Tweek was the one who had left and never gone back.

Tweek knew that Craig's dreams were more than likely to remain just that; dreams. The boy missed far too many classes thanks to his petty insubordination to make college out of state a likelihood, not that he ever talked about that. And Craig didn't have the ambition to go out and find something he really wanted to do with his life. Anyone who bothered to think about it would realise it, though few people cared enough to extend their thoughts to the black-haired boy.

But still, Tweek had worried. Worried that one day Craig would find the money to buy that motorcycle and leave without a word, middle finger extended back at the town as he went on to bigger and better things. Worried that he'd take a spill on the quiet, icy mountain roads and bleed to death before anyone found him. Worried that he'd just vanish.

But it was Tweek who had vanished without a word; gone from South Park without telling any of his friends where he was going, that he was leaving, where they could write him. And Craig would still be in South Park, his chances of a decent job and the chance to buy that motorcycle further diminished by his reputation – news spread fast in hick towns and everyone knew that Craig had been busted for arson _and_ been screwing around with another guy – still bullshitting himself more than anyone else about how he'd get the hell out of there one day. And should anyone mention Tweek's name, he would roll his eyes and say, "that asshole."

_And I thought you were going to stop thinking about Craig?_

Elliot wandered up behind him, putting a familiar hand on his shoulder and staring out of the window to the motorcycle. "Those idiots take their lives in their hands every time they go out on those death traps. If they weren't brain damaged when they bought them, they sure will be after an accident."

Tweek jumped at the contact, trying to cover the twitch by bringing his coffee to his lips and taking a sip. Refocusing his eyes, he could see Elliot's reflection in the glass of the window; his neatly combed brown hair, pale blue eyes and carefully babied skin, grey suit immaculately pressed. Elliot never spoke of fancies and longings, working instead in grounded realities and carefully thought out probabilities. He saw life as a straight line between A and B, plotting a map of the route and making sure that he did the same for Tweek.

"You're coming straight home after work, right?"

The same question every day and just like every day, Tweek nodded. Like he'd have anywhere else to go.

"Good. Got your phone?"

"Yeah."

Elliot planted a dry-lipped kiss on his cheek. "I'll bring home a movie. We can watch it this evening."

"O-okay."

"See you later." Elliot picked up his wallet and keys, gave his hair a quick check in the mirror and left. Tweek went back to staring out of the window. The light had changed and the biker was gone.

Exactly what Craig expected to find outside of South Park, Tweek had never been sure, even less sure when he left himself and found out how different their small mountain town was. Granted, there was always something going on there, aliens, riots, mutant turkeys, mythical figures becoming flesh – they had grown up with it and it was more of an aggravation than an occurrence to them. But away from it all, there was only the mundane reality of the normal world. The terrors that plagued him in South Park were immediate; the ones here were surreal, dreamlike, abstract. It got to the stage where he wasn't sure what it was he was afraid of any more.

But that was okay, because he had Elliot watching out for him, making sure that nothing happened to him.

Elliot warned him all the time of the dangers of the world, the things they had to face every day and how he could avoid getting into trouble. Not like Craig, who just said, "fuck it," and ploughed ahead. Elliot made Tweek fear what might happen to him, nurtured his neurosis, certainly not like Craig, who was patient with his constant worry even as he was dismissing them. And somehow, that attitude made Tweek less afraid of anything, willing to stick his neck out in _spite_ of his worries.

Elliot would never ride on a motorcycle, because they didn't fit in with his view of how things should be. Only drugged-up thugs rode them, not respectable, sensible men. And should he ever be in a situation where he _did_ have to ride one, he would be cautious and careful, sticking to the speed limit and not using the vehicles smaller stature to weave in and out of traffic. He'd take a machine designed for adrenaline and action and turn it into a two-wheeled family sedan. And he'd worry about helmet hair.

He wouldn't be able to coax Tweek onto the pillion.

Craig on the other hand, Craig would hit the first long stretch of road and open the throttle, delighting in the roar of the engine and the sensation of the breeze created by it. He'd dodge dangerously through traffic, flipping off the irate car drivers as they laid on their horns. He'd take corners too fast, ignore treacherous conditions, throw caution to the wind. Not to show off, not because he had a death wish, but because that was what was fun and what he wanted to do.

And although he might scream and cling to Craig's waist, begging him to slow down, be careful, Tweek would be right there behind him, knowing that he would come to no harm at the same time as being convinced he was going to die.

The conflicting attitude disturbed Tweek. It wasn't that he didn't trust Elliot. Elliot was like pre-packaged boiled water, bland, inoffensive and totally safe. Of course he trusted Elliot and liked him too, or he wouldn't be living here, in Elliot's apartment and sharing Elliot's bed. It was something else.

His mind wandered back to the times Craig had announced his plans to just blow out of town one day, like a tumbleweed passing through, not that South Park had _those_. Even though he had known how unlikely it was, how there was nothing out there waiting for him, he hadn't doubted for a second that if Craig ever got serious about his desire, he could do it. He could leave Colorado behind and become something or someone else.

That was the difference. He _believed _in Craig, even when what he said was just an impossible dream, Tweek never doubted once that Craig could do it. More than that; when Craig spoke like that, Tweek believed in himself more too. He could dream right along with him and never give his typical paranoia a thought.

With Craig, he had felt as though nothing was impossible, that anything and everything could be achieved. He felt a part of something, important, alive. With Elliot, he felt like a ghost, watching his own life through a veil of self-imposed restrictions.

_And you're thinking about him again. Stop it!_

Easier said than done.

He supposed he could have gone back to South Park at some point in the intervening years. There wasn't really anything to stop him, nothing to stop him taking a flying visit and just wandering around some old haunts, nothing to stop him even just phoning Clyde or Token and asking how things were going, or getting a number off their parents so he could call them at school.

But his last memories of the town were hellish. The last time he had seen Craig, being shoved roughly into the back of a police car with his hands cuffed behind his back, receiving the same treatment himself seconds later, keeping them separated. His parents, who never quite managed righteous fury, bailing him out and dragging him home, where he remained under virtual house arrest until a few weeks later, when his parents upped and moved. Finding out that his parents had paid a great deal of money to make the problem go away, legally at least, knowing without being told that the same could not be said of Craig's family. Not being told what was happening to Craig, if he was back at school and being tormented day in, day out or if he'd been kicked out – or if maybe he's made good on his threat to blow the hell out of town and never come back. Seeing the townspeople wandering past his house, openly staring and whispering and knowing he was the source of the scandal. The phonecalls he wasn't allowed to take, the friends turned away from the door.

And he had let it happen. It seemed that his rebellious streak had deserted him, perhaps for good. He hadn't fought to leave the house, hadn't argued being pulled out of school, hadn't uttered a protest at the sudden transfer to a new town in a new part of the state.

Once he had finished home school, he could have taken off – there was no way he could have been forced to stay – except that the atmosphere in the house had gotten to him again and this time, he was all too aware of the worst that could happen. The metaphors, the constant picking at his self-esteem, the daily reminders that the one time he had broken out of the mould, it had all gone to shit. The only thing he had stood up for himself on was working at Harbucks. He had promised himself _never again_ and although with most other things he was apathetic, that was the one issue he was never moved on. Instead, he found a low-pressure administrative position. Repetitive. Boring. Perfect for someone who really couldn't bring himself to care.

He'd let himself drift, not wanting anything in particular (except perhaps, the one thing he couldn't have) and getting into a routine that was about as stimulating as watching paint dry. He got all the stimulation he needed from the coffee he still drank by the gallon, boredom causing him to over-consume just for want of something to do and the caffeine affecting his twitching and paranoia worse than ever before. He got a reputation as an oddball and remained isolated. That was fine. He'd felt no urge to be a part of the group anyway.

When he thought about it, which was more often than he probably should, he wondered if it was apathy that had led to his relationship with Elliot. Certainly, he hadn't thought much of the guy one way or another when his parents invited the man home for a meal and when he started 'running into' him, he accepted the offer of a drink one night because he didn't have a good enough excuse not to. And somehow, he'd found himself with a steady boyfriend and no idea how it had happened.

Then his parents had died, a four-car pileup that had left him in a state of shock. His nervous tics had gone into overdrive, accompanied by sheer terror about what the hell he would do next. Elliot had taken care of everything in his methodical, careful way, dealing with the machinery of death while helping Tweek not to fall apart at the seams. He'd suggested the Tweek stay at his apartment rather than on his own in his parents house and once the wills and inheritance were dealt with, commented that the house was far too big and too filled with memories and since the sellers market was good, he should unload the house and remain permanently in the apartment. With no real reason to do otherwise, Tweek had let himself be talked into it.

He could have gone back to South Park then, claimed it as some kind of therapeutic thing. But there had been too much pressure, he'd been feeling emotionally fragile and couldn't have taken it if something had gone wrong – and in South Park, something _always _went wrong. So he hadn't gone and after a while, it seemed like maybe Elliot was right, the past was better left buried.

Elliot and Craig held a similar view on the past, although they approached it from different directions; that dwelling on it was useless. Elliot said that there was no merit to it because only the present and the future were important. Craig said if you couldn't change it, fuck it. Tweek wished he could just take the damn advice, no matter who gave it and for what reason.

Slugging the last of the coffee, he checked the clock on the wall and sighed. Late again. There was a side door where the smokers crept out for their cancer sticks, when he was late Tweek crept in there and claimed he'd just forgotten to sign in. Everyone bought it – funny, twitchy Tweek doing something spazzy, what a surprise – and the smokers kept quiet about it. Perhaps because they were ostracised themselves, forced out of the buildings to huddle under ledges in peculiar groups that surpassed the usual pecking order, the smokers could talk to anyone and were pretty nice to him. Or maybe because he didn't lecture them. Then again, he could empathise with addiction.

Dumping the cup in the sink – Elliot would bitch about him not putting it in the dishwasher, but what the hell – Tweek grabbed his jacket, checked four times that he had his keys, cellphone, wallet and iPod and left the apartment, trying to avoid looking at himself in the mirror Elliot always checked himself in before he left.

The journey to work made him even more paranoid and harried than it usually did – he always felt like people were looking at him, but today was worse than ever – but he didn't deviate from the pre-work ritual; heading into a small coffee shop a block away and walking up to the counter. The girl behind the counter this morning was Jodie, who gave him a big smile as he approached.

"Hi Tweek. You want the usual?"

"Uh, yeah, please."

She made the drink with practised ease, chattering as she did so, the usual things about how the other staff were doing and detailing how she'd spent the night before at a friends house. Tweek had been a regular customer as long as he'd been working at his office and somewhere along the line, they had fallen into a casual camaraderie.

"You should come out with us one night," she finished as she handed him his coffee. "You're practically one of the staff here. I owe you a drink for fixing the espresso machine last month, there was no way I could have done it and the boss bitches like hell when we call out the mechanic."

"Yeah, _ack_, I will," lied Tweek, handing over the money. It wasn't the first time he'd been asked but usually he found himself conveniently busy, or Elliot planned something, or didn't think it was a good idea.

"I mean it," said Jodie sternly and Tweek wondered uneasily if she'd read his mind. "You get your ass out with us and never mind what your boyfriend says about it. We'll look after you."

Tweek nodded, muttering some excuse about how late he was and hurrying out of the door. There was no real reason he couldn't go out with them, except that he didn't do very well in social situations. But perhaps she was right. He couldn't very well spend every evening of his life either at home or out with Elliot's friends, who were perhaps the dullest people Tweek had ever met. And one of the things he missed the most about living in South Park, other than the obvious, was his friends. Token and Clyde hadn't minded his odd mannerisms even though they occasionally poked fun at them and the other kids in town had been pretty accepting of him too. Here, no one got the chance because he wouldn't give it to them.

The building where he worked loomed up ahead, as uninviting as ever. Tweek skirted around the side, avoiding the window where the nosy receptionist could see out and inform the boss that he was not only late but trying to hide it, cardboard coffee cup warming his hand. Luckily, there were two people stood outside getting their nicotine fix, Carrie and Adam, lower-echelon drones as Adam liked to describe them as.

"Hey Tweek," said Carrie, taking what was obviously her first drag on the cigarette, stuffing the lighter into her bra. "I fucking hate that they don't make women's clothes with pockets. You late again?"

"Here." Adam held out his own cigarette and Tweek took it, taking a couple of long drags. He didn't smoke much – Elliot hated it when he smoked and it was easier to not bother than to listen to endless statistics on lung cancer fatalities and how much the average smoker spends in a lifetime – but he enjoyed it once in a while and he felt the urge at that moment.

"Thanks."

"You going to Hamer's retirement party next Friday?" asked Carrie.

"Gah! I mean, I dunno!"

"You'd better," said Adam, taking back his cigarette. "You can't leave us alone with the old people. Seriously Tweek, you have to or else it'll be really boring."

"Okay then," said Tweek, surprising himself since he'd already decided to give the event a miss.

"Good man!" Adam grinned cheerfully at him. "After all, it's just a meal and all the wine we can swindle out of the company expense account. Nothing can go wrong."

Tweek pushed away a memory of burning buildings and police cruisers before saying goodbye and hurrying to his workspace before he could change his mind. He'd probably change it anyway – next Friday was a long way off, plenty of time to decide it was too much trouble – but for now, he was committed.

The usual work bullshit. Filing, searching for things, receiving memos and phonecalls. Making himself coffee and getting lunch from Subway. Most of the documents he worked with were stored in the cellar and sometimes, he could spend an entire day without seeing another person. Most of the time he found it quite comforting, occasionally he wondered what would happen if he had a heart attack and died down there, if anyone would find him or even notice him missing, or if it would be like the time Kenny McCormick crawled into the vent at school and it wasn't until someone realised where the odd smell was coming from that they thought to look for him.

His heart held out and at the end of the day he left, declining the offer of a ride home from Carrie – he actually enjoyed the walk, being outside and free of any kind of pressure at all. Headphones on, he took his time walking back to the apartment, ignoring the other pedestrians. His mind went to more pleasant subjects, a TV programme he was looking forward to, the satisfying ending of a book he had recently read, the prospect of a pay rise and what he might spend the windfall on. His mind was far from all thoughts of South Park, good or bad, clear of his opposing views on his boyfriend. The walk home always cleared the cobwebs.

Elliot was already home when Tweek got back, going through their neatly arranged fridge and pulling out ingredients. "I'd given you up for lost."

Tweek felt a flash of resentment. "I'm not late."

"I was thinking, maybe I should pick you up after you've finished in future. It's a long walk and public transport isn't safe."

"You work – _gnk – _in the opposite direction! You'd have to drive for miles and what if you got stuck in traffic and it rained and I got pneumonia?"

"You could wait in the coffee house," said Elliot rationally, beginning work on a salad. "Remember what we said about catastrophising?"

"No! GAH! What if I'm losing my memory? What if I have altziehmers?"

Elliot shot a look at Tweek, who didn't seem to be acting any different than usual – but he was sure there was sarcasm somewhere in that statement.

"I don't mind the extra drive," he said finally, deciding to ignore the suspicion.

"I don't – _ack_ – don't want picking up. I like _gnh_ walking home."

Nodding, Elliot went to the sink to wash some lettuce, picking the cup Tweek had left there that morning and raising an eyebrow. Tweek didn't acknowledge the silent accusation and with a sigh, Elliot put it in the dishwasher himself. "Well, if it rains or something, I'll call you and let you know I'm coming, okay?"

"Uh-huh." Tweek wandered away into the bathroom and a moment later, Elliot heard the shower running.

They ate dinner at the table, as they always did unless it was Friday and they got take out. The film Elliot had rented was a comedy, amusing if not terribly original. Tweek made popcorn in the microwave, screaming each time one of the kernels banged until Elliot sent him out of the room and finished it himself. They sat entwined on the couch in an embrace that was born of familiarity, Tweek's head on Elliot's shoulder as he tried to concentrate on the screen, Elliot's hand on Tweek's leg, stroking at his thigh by the time the movie ended. The action got Tweek's attention and as the end credits rolled, he slid his hands into Elliot's shirt and turned his head enough to catch the skin of his boyfriends neck between his teeth and give him a light nip.

Elliot pulled his head away. "No marks, I've got to work tomorrow."

"I know."

"Let's get ready for bed and we can continue there." Elliot used the remote to turn off the television, standing and giving Tweek a wink before heading to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Tweek flopped back on the couch, running a hand through his hair and tugging on a handful in sheer frustration. They lived together, they weren't about to be caught in the act, so why not just get busy on the couch?

_It's not scotchguarded_ said a sarcastic voice in his head and he sighed again, the mood totally gone. Ten at night and here he was, ready to slip between the covers (after brushing his own teeth of course) and turn out the light to have sex-by-numbers with Elliot, which would leave him more frustrated afterwards than if they hadn't bothered at all. And then they'd get a good nights sleep so they could get up in plenty of time to live through the exact same day tomorrow.

Oh _joy_.

**~:~**

Craig's morning had actually begun at the ridiculously early hour of two forty five am. He hadn't been doing much sleeping and for the first time in living memory was up before Christophe started banging on the door and reminding him that they had a job to do. Within fifteen minutes he was dressed, packed and ready to leave. He let Kenny know they were on their way, knocking at the door before he entered – no way was he making _that_ mistake again – and meeting Christophe outside, where the Frenchman was leaning against the van, smoking a cigarette and looking too alert for the hour. It had been decided that they would take the reliable, normal looking VW van, which was actually modified to travel at very high speeds. They also wheeled Craig's motorcycle into the back as an afterthought; if they had to trail after Tweek a lot, it was better to have more than one vehicle in case he got suspicious. The bike was kept well maintained, but it was eight years old and had clearly had a couple of not-too-careful previous owners, making it unlikely to linger in the memory.

Christophe took the wheel and drove the whole way there, Craig finally managing a light doze in the passenger side that owed plenty to training – all three men were able to nap in the most unusual places, out of necessity as they might not know sleep again for a while. His own bed just didn't offer the same kind of urgency.

By five, they were in the town Tweek had made his home for the last few years. It was larger than South Park by a fair amount, cold, but not with the freakish weather that was normal in their home town. Christophe followed the map they had made until they got to the building where Tweek lived.

Craig felt his stomach begin to churn and forced the feeling away. This was just another job. Nothing more. He couldn't afford to let the past get in the way here. If it couldn't be changed, fuck it.

Both he and Christophe had dressed in blue coveralls, a phony gas company logo on the breast pocket. It was rare they were seen, but in a residential neighbourhood it helped to have a uniform on. Claiming a suspected gas leak made people trust them and the uniform made them invisible.

"I'm going into the building opposite," Craig said as they parked some distance from Tweek's apartment. "Check showed communal hallways and a free pass to the fire escape on the second floor. I can get a good spot on the roof."

Christophe nodded. "Keep your radio with you."

"Check."

"Be careful _mon ami_."

Craig gave Christophe a surprised look. When the man gave warnings, it was more along the lines of, "Do not fuck up or I _weel_ kill you." The mild concern in the Mole's voice suggested it wasn't physical safety he was worried about.

"I will be," he replied. "Thanks."

"I 'ope you 'ave your own cigarettes zis time."

Back to brusque. Craig smirked and pulled a packet from his pocket. "Right here."

"Good. Let's get on with zis."

Craig slammed the door shut and made his way to the building opposite Tweek's, entering with no trouble at all, thanks to some creative work on the electronic keypad. The early hour meant no one was around to question him and he managed to get to the roof without seeing a single person. In his experience most security was woefully lax, its only function making the people it was supposed to protect_ feel_ safe rather than actually _be_ safe.

He wondered how good Tweek's security was.

It was cold on the roof, but his clothes cut out most of the chill and he had his hat in the toolbox that was part of his disguise. Pulling it on, he found his radio and pressed the send button. "I'm in position. Over."

"I assume you 'ave the apartment window in sight? Over."

"Yeah, duh. No sign of movement yet though. Over."

"I 'ope 'e sleeps in til noon and makes your ass freeze up zere all morning. Over."

"Hey, fuck you! Over."

Craig settled down beside a disused chimney stack, where it would be almost impossible to see him from Tweek's apartment. He had three digital cameras fully charged and ready, knowing there was no such thing as overkill when it came to these matters. But it was still early and according to their investigations, Tweek's office wouldn't open until nine. He was in plenty of time.

Leaning back against the chimney stack, he trained a pair of binoculars on the distant window and tried not to think about whom he was going to see when someone finally rose. Either Tweek – or the guy Tweek had got to replace him. He told himself he wasn't going to think about it, that he was going to treat the whole mission as if it were a stranger he was tracking. That worked sometimes, but when he had to wait around like this, it was hard.

_Does he still yank on his hair when he's stressed?_ He wondered. _Does he still get that look on his face, that wicked smile when he's about to do something he thinks is daring? Does he still spill the popcorn when you watch a horror movie? Does he still go commando? Does he still think that leek and potato soup is the work of the devil? Does he still drink too much coffee? Does he still talk about me?_

He cut off his thoughts in a hurry, focusing on the mission. When his mind tried to wander, he forced himself to muse on his on-again, off-again, whenever-he's-not-busy, whenever-she's-available girlfriend. He tried to think about the recent texts that hinted she might be interested in a little bedroom gymnastics. It was no good. He couldn't recall what he ever saw in her, other than her availability and her uncanny ability to piss off all his friends.

_Does he still secretly like eighties comedy movies?_

Scowling, he pulled his hat further onto his head, checking his watch before peering back through the binoculars. Still nothing. In another effort to distract himself, he began singing under his breath. "Something something something, noise and confusion, something something something something illusion..."

There was a movement within the apartment.

Craig sprang into action, discarding the binoculars for a camera which had a fantastic long distance visual. Through it, he saw a man with brown hair and striped blue pyjamas wander into the living room, pausing to stretch. Craig scowled. He recognised Elliot Bolton from the pictures.

He snapped a couple of pictures as Elliot moved to the coffee machine and flicked it on, then grabbed himself a glass of water and went to the cupboard for a box of what looked like muesli. He went to the fridge, took out the milk, added it to a bowl and then returned it to the same spot.

More movement; back toward the door Elliot had just emerged from. Craig moved the camera, preparing to get some more pictures – and then his heart slammed hard against his ribcage and he froze before he could take a single shot.

Tweek.

Tweek, wearing loose pj pants and nothing else, already shaking as the morning set in and the effects of caffeine withdrawal occurred. Running a hand through his hair, walking out to get his first cup of coffee.

There was a painful lurch in his chest and Craig winced, then his heart began behaving itself, although it was going way too fast. Reminding himself of his mission, he began taking pictures.

Tweek, standing at the coffee maker, pouring a drink. Craig had to force the memories from his head; when Craig had slept over on the pretence of some school work, the morning after when Tweek had stood in that exact same position and done those exact same things.

_Does he still have trouble waking up?_

Everything normal, everything average. Tweek with his coffee and Elliot fucking Bolton with his low-fat, high-carb muesli.

_Does he still get the horn in the morning?_

Elliot finished his breakfast and put the bowl in the dishwasher – anally retentive, Craig considered it – and went back to what was presumably the bedroom. Tweek stayed, finishing his drink, picking up the remote control and turning on the television.

_Does he still hate watching the news?_

Belatedly, he realised he was supposed to be keeping Christophe clued in and grabbed the radio, pressing the send button. "They're on the move. Over."

"_Oui?_ Over."

"Yeah, just – y'know, breakfast and shit. They're not leaving for a while. Over."

"Okay. Keep me in ze loop. Over."

Craig put the radio away, letting the camera zoom in on Tweek again. The boy – man – had changed, but not so much as to be unrecognisable. He'd gotten maybe an inch or two taller and filled out slightly, his hair trimmed in what Craig guessed was supposed to be a neat cut. With Tweek, it had soon turned into wild spikes.

Tweek stood and turned, standing at the window for a few moments and giving a good view of his torso to anyone who happened to be spying on him, making Craig think about the nights in that damned abandoned house when the pair of them had been away from it all and Tweek had taken his shirt off, looking afraid and defiant at the same time, reaching for Craig's top and pulling it over his head...

Craig made a fist and punched his leg, hard. It hurt, but it brought his attention back to the matter at hand. Photos, good. Pornographic images of the person he was photographing, bad.

There was the usual flurry of activity as both men dressed for work. Craig found it interesting to observe that they never seemed to be in the bedroom at the same time. Apart from that, there was little of note, until Tweek was fully dressed and on his third cup of coffee.

Tweek wandered to the window again, staring out. Elliot came up behind him and spoke for a while, presumably saying his goodbyes, leaving Tweek with a small kiss. Tweek barely seemed to notice, gazing dreamily for another ten minutes before seeming to realise he was late. Craig managed to get some good pictures, proof, if proof were needed, that Tweek occupied the apartment. His expression was wistful and Craig frowned, wondering what was on his mind.

"Okay," Craig said into his radio. "He's on the move. Over"

"Can you get to ze ground floor? Over."

"Gonna try."

Craig shoved everything back into the tool box and raced down the fire escape, pausing only briefly at the entrance back into the building. For security reasons, fire escapes didn't go all the way to the ground – but he really didn't want to miss this part of the surveillance. Instead, he climbed the ladders down two more flights and then, judging his chances as fair to good with the alley below, dropped from his perch. The fall was abruptly cut off when he hit the ground but he rolled with it, grateful it wasn't garbage day.

He grabbed his radio. "I'm down! Over."

"Uh-huh." Christophe seemed slightly amused. "So where is ze target? Over."

Craig made his way to the end of the alley just in time to see Tweek leaving the building and walking down the street, headphones on. "In sight. Ha! Over."

"Don't attract attention. Over."

"I won't. Over."

Craig took off his hat – the last thing he needed was to draw attention to himself and his style of headgear hadn't changed – and followed Tweek down the road. He didn't bother with the camera, not wanting to look suspicious, hanging as far back as he dared so that Tweek didn't see him. He needn't have worried. Tweek glanced around himself several times, a worried frown on his face, but didn't see Craig, who took pains to hide himself whenever Tweek looked around.

_Does he still worry that he'll be kidnapped?_

An entire day spent watching Tweek was both a hardship and a revelation. Craig staked out a spot near Tweek's work, unable to see in through the windows and keeping an eye on him when he left for lunch, going only as far as the local Subway and a nearby coffee shop. He could see through the coffee shop windows though, noticed Tweek seemed friendly with the staff. Probably they knew him, if he still spent as much time drinking coffee as he used to.

Craig managed to tail him home too, finding it easier than tracking him to work – Tweek finally seemed at peace, wandering slowly with his headphones in, smiling to himself. It pissed Craig off slightly. Was he looking that pleased because he was on his way home to Mr Wonderful?

He managed to get the same spot on the rooftop as he had done that morning, although there were people around the building this time. He was stopped once, but all the woman asked him was if she should be worried about her own gas supply. Craig made up some excuse about a ruptured pipe in an upstairs apartment, told her she should have no problems and was able to get on his way. It never ceased to amaze him how people took one look at the uniform and assumed he had the right to be there.

Once in position, he radioed Christophe again and gave a report, asking if Kenny and Gregory had arrived yet.

"_Oui, _zey are here. I'll let zem tell you ze news. You want me to take over? Over."

"Nah, I'm good for now. Over."

"Uh-huh." Christophe didn't sound convinced. "We 'ave established ze location and 'ave ze pictures. Zat is all we need. Over."

"I'm just making sure the job's done properly," replied Craig, a touch of mocking in his tone. "Over."

"What are zey doing? Over."

"Watching a movie. Over."

"You want to see ze movie so bad, we'll rent it out when we get 'ome! Over."

Craig laughed. "I'll be back soon. I'll give them chance to head off to bed and come down. Over."

He cast the radio aside, a slight nausea coming over him as he considered the immediate future. That Tweek would be going to bed. With Elliot fucking Bolton.

_Maybe they've got a Bert and Ernie thing going on_ he consoled himself, without really being convinced. Tweek could put all that repressed energy to some creative uses and he couldn't imagine the man being content to be happy with a cup of cocoa and a kiss on the cheek before lights out. In fact, he was being remarkably well-behaved as he sat on the couch with another man's arm around him. In Craig's experience, Tweek couldn't get through an entire movie without getting distracted somewhere along the line and letting his hands get busy...

Shit, there were those erotic images again. He had to _focus_.

Although focus was becoming difficult. Through the camera, he could see Elliot's hand wandering further up Tweek's leg and he had to grit his teeth and remind himself that this was just another job, no different from anything else he'd had to do. But he refused to take any pictures until the guy moved his damn hand.

He had to wait a long time.

Suddenly, Tweek twisted his head around, his mouth on Elliot's neck, his hands vanishing into the man's shirt. Craig narrowed his eyes, suddenly realising that it might not have been a good idea to stay after all. He wanted to leave, right away, but he felt frozen to the spot.

_Does that guy know how lucky he is?_

Apparently not. Elliot pulled away, seemingly admonishing Tweek before leaving the room. Tweek threw himself back on the couch, yanking at a handful of hair, clearly pissed off.

Craig decided that Elliot Bolton was mentally deficient.

After a minute or so, Tweek roused himself and turned off the living room lights, exiting for the bedroom. Getting any more pictures that night was out of the question; the bedroom window wasn't in view from where Craig was and he had no desire to see what the pair might be getting up to. Thoughtfully, he put away his camera gear, thinking hard about what he had seen.

Tweek was about to have an incident.

He'd seen it before, several times, most memorably when he quit Harbucks. The man would get pissed off and frustrated and if nothing changed, he'd finally lose his temper and burn his bridges. Tweek spent most of his time being too passive, but when he reached the end of his patience, it was akin to a nuclear explosion.

With the possibility of Tweek being involved in some Peruvian prophecy in the near future, this wasn't a good moment for him to do anything rash. Normally, Craig would welcome the thought of Tweek dumping his boyfriend and doing something to change what looked like the most boring life in history, but this was really _not_ the time.

Meaning that Craig had to hope Tweek stayed with his replacement.

_Fuck._


	7. They Put Guys In Prison For This Stuff

**Author Note: **Huge thanks to my reviewers; The Brat Prince (and for the shoutout in YCNGB!), Chels and Kenneth22. You're all giving me a swelled head and a big grin! I've said it before, but it really is great knowing that the story is liked. Big hugs and virtual chocolate to all!

So, I'm being driven completely and utterly insane by my gigantic workload – I've put in so much overtime it's frigging ridiculous and appear to have developed Tourette's as a result (I'm shouting "COCK!" a lot recently anyway). The only upsides are a) I found out there is a women's prison called Styal, which as you can imagine, made me _soooo_ happy, and b) there is finally an end in sight.

I've got three chapter fic ideas and two of them I even started; now I'm gonna have a little time to myself I might just get on with them. One is an dark and not even slightly funny Dip, with vast amounts of blood and torment, also explosions and graphic(ish) smex. The second a MOOP story with _possibly_ Style, Bunny and Cryde (yeah, I know the last one doesn't make sense considering the topic, but it will if I ever get around to any more chapters), although the pairings aren't set in stone yet, which would have a similar tone to this fic – and boy love and explosions. The third is an all-out Mary Sue slash crack fic. With explosions. I've no idea which will see the light of day first, but I'll keep ya posted. Would anyone be interested in them?

**&*&*&*&*&**

Gregory told Craig everything they had found out from Professor Chalmers that evening, after sending Kenny out to keep an eye on the apartment where Tweek was sleeping – at least, Craig _hoped_ he was just sleeping. The alternative was too depressing.

They had garnered a two-bed room in a run-down motel, the kind where the walls are thin enough to hear the bedsprings creaking in the next room and the main hope is that the sheets have been cleaned in the not-too-distant past. Not the most pleasant arrangement, but no one there wanted to admit they'd _been_ there and that meant a lot less awkward questions should anyone notice them acting peculiarly.

"You think someone's going to kill Tweek," said Craig, massaging his temples wearily. It had been a long day already and things certainly weren't looking any brighter.

"They will 'ave to kidnap 'im and take 'im back to South Park," mused Christophe. "If it is there 'e must die."

"So, we have to make sure no one snatches Tweek." Craig glanced over at Gregory. "For how long?"

"According to Kyle, the carvings indicate a lunar eclipse is a part of the event," said Gregory. "The next one isn't for over a week."

"So, any time between now and then?" Craig frowned. "I don't like it. Tweek looks on the verge of having a breakdown already. I can see it now; he'll suddenly decide he's had enough and perhaps go chasing some old memories, coincidentally ending up back home just in time for this lunar eclipse. _Shit_."

"We just have to make sure we don't lose sight of him," said Gregory calmly. "You two must be exhausted. Get plenty of sleep."

Craig looked dubiously at the bed. Christophe seemed to have the same thoughts, because when he spoke, his voice was incredulous. "Sleep _'ere_?"

"I'll remain in radio contact with Kenny," continued Gregory, deliberately missing the point. "It's perfectly safe."

Sighing, Craig decided he had a point. He was wiped out and it looked like he was going to spend the rest of the week stalking his ex-boyfriend. He didn't want to do anything stupid in his sleep-deprived state, say for example, letting himself be seen. That would _not_ be good for Tweek's paranoia.

Speaking of paranoia, Christophe was removing his weapons in preparation for sleep. Craig didn't make a habit of watching other people disrobe, but he couldn't stop staring as the Mole removed enough weaponry to arm a small country. "Shit, where do you keep all of those?"

"On my person, obviously."

"You got a grenade shoved up your ass too?"

"I can shove one up _your_ ass with ze pin pulled if you like."

"We were only taking a few pictures!"

"Take some more, zey will last longer."

Huffily, Craig turned his back to let the Mole continue getting ready. Gregory had set up a laptop on the dresser and was looking at something on the internet, the faint light coming from the screen tingeing his face red. Craig glared at his back. "Those sheets had better be clean."

"It's a room with two single beds," replied Gregory. "What are you worried might be on them?"

"I don't even want to think about it," muttered Craig, giving up and crawling beneath the sheets.

It was several hours later and still dark when he was awakened by movement. There was no sleepy confusion, he went from asleep and dreaming to awake and sitting upright, the gun he'd stowed under his pillow in his hand. From the corner of his eye, he could see Christophe had done likewise and across the room, Gregory had jumped to his feet and had his own gun ready.

The entire room was vibrating, the Mole's armoury clicking together softly, the furniture trembling. There was a muted sound that was more felt than heard, a change in the atmospheric pressure obvious to all three of them.

It went on for several minutes, then gradually quietened and stopped.

"Earthquake," said Gregory, putting his gun away and sitting back down.

"Yeah," said Craig, lying back down and closing his eyes, trying to dismiss the sense of foreboding as leftover tension from this crazy assignment. The sooner it was all over with, the better.

**~:~**

"I 'ave slept in an 'ole, I 'ave slept in a tree, I 'ave slept in a tent in ze snow with you two assholes. But never 'ave I slept anywhere more unpleasant zen zat bed last night."

Kenny grinned, listening to Christophe bitch over the airwaves. He was discreetly following Tweek to work, hoody pulled up over his head and the radio clamped to his ear, as if he were holding a conversation on a cell phone. Christophe was sitting in the van, parked near Tweek's office. If someone were to snatch Tweek off the street, that was the most likely spot it would happen in.

"Craig, you asshole, I know zat you're flipping me off!"

"No I wasn't." The lie was clearly evident in Craig's tone and Kenny chuckled. Craig was on his motorcycle, parked up behind the coffee shop where Tweek got his early morning fix, looking out for anything suspicious while staying out of sight.

"Okay, he's on the corner," said Kenny. "You should be getting visual any second now Mole. Over."

"_Oui,_ I see 'im. Over"

Kenny let Tweek get out of sight, leaving it up to Christophe to watch him as he went for coffee and then to the office. Since Tweek and Christophe had never met, even if he saw the van he wouldn't know who was sitting in the drivers seat.

Leaning against the wall of a nearby building, Kenny checked out the surroundings. It wasn't so different from South Park, just a little bigger. And there was probably a lot less drama too.

"He's entering ze coffee shop – _merde! _What's zis fucking asshole doing?"

"What's up?" snapped Craig through the radio.

"Zis car, it was parked on ze end of ze street, now zey have pulled up right outside ze... _sheet!_"

Kenny stood up straight, suddenly alarmed. "Mole?"

"Three guys, zey have masks and shotguns. Zey mean to take 'im from ze coffee shop!"

"The fuck they will."

"_Craig!_" Kenny shouted into the radio, already on the move, cursing when Craig didn't reply. As he turned the corner he spied the coffee shop ahead, just in time to see one of the windows erupt outwards. Pedestrians began to scream and Kenny found himself fighting against a human tide, trying to get as far away from the scene as they could.

And beneath their panicked yells, gunfire.

**~:~**

Craig had crept to the front of the shop as soon as he heard Mole's irritated cursing. When he was informed of the situation, he threw caution to the wind and raced to the door, barging into the shop moments behind the gunmen.

It took him less than a second to appraise the situation. Two of the gunmen were aiming casually at the tables on either side of the shop, screaming customers ducking to the imagined safety beneath them. The third was pointing his gun ahead of him, at the counter where Tweek was stood, slowly raising his hands in a surrender gesture. The girl behind the counter was in the act of hitting the floor, but Tweek was right out in the open.

The click of the safety being released wasn't loud, but Craig heard it over the cries of the people and _knew_ that this guy wasn't going to try to take Tweek with him.

He was going to kill him.

Craig was moving before the other two gunmen had finished turning to see who was behind them. He tackled the third gunman, slamming hard into his back. The man instinctively tightened his finger on the trigger and a shot rang out, the bullet shattering the window at the front of the shop but fortunately, not hitting anyone. They both went down, the guy losing his grip on the gun, which went skittering out of reach and Craig was up again, giving the guy a kick in the back of the head and racing toward the counter, scooping up the lost gun without breaking stride.

The other two had realised something had gone wrong and Craig didn't have to look around to know they would be aiming for him – and for Tweek, since he seemed to be their target. He could see Tweek's eyes widen still further in a flash of recognition and he just had time to think that Gregory was going to be _seriously_ pissed about this before he reached the blonde, grabbing him around the waist and throwing him roughly to the floor beside the gap that led behind the counter. He hit the floor himself, not a moment too soon – there was a shot and a container holding muffins exploded in a shower of plastic shards.

"_Move_!" Craig shoved Tweek behind the counter and scrambled after him, hearing the shop door fly open hard enough to shatter the glass in it, followed by a stream of heavily-accented cursing and more shots. The Mole and Kenny could take care of it now, but he had to get Tweek out of there before anything else went down.

The counter girl was huddled in a corner, sitting in a puddle of spilt coffee. Craig checked her name tag. "Jodie!"

She looked up at him through wide, wet eyes, obviously terrified.

"Can we get out through the kitchen or is it locked?"

"It's a fire door," she said faintly, which was all he needed to hear.

Grabbing Tweek's arm, he took to his feet but remained crouching. He could feel the blonde shaking madly and he briefly remembered the last time he had felt him do that, trying to get him away from a fire that was gutting their secret meeting place before they were both killed. Deja vu.

"Come on!"

"Craig?" Tweek was staring at him, not making any attempt to move and Craig inwardly cursed. He certainly didn't expect their reunion being anything like _this_.

"Tweek, we have to get out of here! Let's go!"

More deja vu, hadn't he uttered those exact words the last time they'd been together?

Tweek let Craig pull him toward the kitchen, the entrance located behind the counter. Once they were in, Craig straightened up and hurried Tweek along to the fire door at the back, hoping it wasn't alarmed. He still had the gun he had liberated from the guy he took down and he checked it quickly, preparing himself in case there were more of them outside. He had no reason to believe there would be, he had been behind the shop himself less than five minutes before, but one of the first lessons a mercenary learned was not to take unnecessary risks.

The door wasn't hooked up to the alarm and it opened easily. Craig did a sweep of the alley with the gun, but it was deserted. At the same time, he realised that the shop behind him had quieted somewhat, there were no more bullets flying around although there was still a lot of screaming and crying going on.

The immediate threat might be gone, but it didn't change the situation; he had to get Tweek out of there before anything else happened.

His bike was in the alley where he had left it and he fished in his pocket for the key, gun still readied. "Get on the bike."

"_What_? GAH!"

"You wanna stay here and get shot at some more? Get on the fucking bike Tweek!"

"GAH!" Tweek bolted for the vehicle and paused beside it, clearly uncertain. Craig shoved the only helmet at him and straddled the motorcycle. "Put it on and let's go."

Tweek jammed the helmet onto his head, leaving the straps since he had no idea how the hell to fasten them and, persuaded by Craig's urgent expression, climbed onto the back. The engine roared into life and he screamed, wrapping his arms around Craig's waist and trying to grip with his knees.

Craig sped out of the alley and turned onto the street, heading away from the coffee shop, hearing sirens in the distance. He hoped that Christophe and Kenny were getting the hell away too, the last thing they needed was having to bribe the officials. But they could handle themselves and he had to get Tweek away before someone else took a shot at him.

That they had shot at him at all was causing him some concern. He thought the death had to take place a certain way, at a certain time, in a certain place. It didn't seem likely that a coffee shop several hours drive from South Park at eight-fifty-seven in the morning would cut it. So what was with the shooting?

He weaved around a few cars, causing his pillion passenger to give a muffled shriek. Craig couldn't suppress a chuckle, deliberately swerving again. Tweek yelped and clung to him tighter. It was a pretty good feeling.

Craig wished he could take a moment to forget about the intervening years, Elliot fucking Bolton, all the bullshit and just imagine for a couple of minutes that everything between him and Tweek was fine, that Tweek was with him because he wanted to be there. Unfortunately, there was no time to daydream, not when someone had been taking pot shots at Tweek.

He saw a public park to his right, a small parking lot attached and reluctantly pulled in, deciding they were far enough away from the scene to stop for a while. Tweek refused to relax his grip until the engine died and the kickstand was in place, then he let go of Craig and slid off the bike, almost falling over as his legs shook. Craig grinned. First time bikers. They were always good for a laugh.

"Sit down before you fall down," he said, indicating to a nearby bench. Tweek staggered over and dropped into it, raising his hands as if to take off the helmet, then abruptly dropping them again.

Craig took his radio from his jacket pocket and pressed the transmit button. "You guys there? Over."

"It's about fucking time," spat the familiar voice of the Mole. "What 'ave you been doing, spooning?"

Craig was about to say _kinda_, but remembered it might not be the best thing to say in front of Tweek. Still, the chance of pissing off Christophe couldn't go unused. "You really should say over when you've finished talking. Over."

"Trust me, I _'aven't _finished, you stupid..."

There was the sound of a brief scuffle, then Kenny's voice came over the radio. "Can we get to the fighting later? What's going on Craig?"

"Tweek's with me."

"Duh. What the hell happened to _covert_?"

"Oh come on, they were about to shoot him!"

Tweek's twitching became so rapid that Craig wondered if he was going to blur around the edges. Wincing, he tried to lower his voice so the other couldn't hear the conversation. He could have moved further away, but he didn't want to let Tweek out of his sight in case something else happened, or if he tried to bolt.

"_Shoot_ him?" Kenny sounded incredulous. "I thought they were going to kidnap him. He's not much use to anyone dead."

"Shout that a bit louder Ken, why don't you."

"Are you sure?"

"The guy had him dead bang. What happened after we got out of there?"

"Ugh, Christophe went all Mole on their asses. The guy you took out is still alive, but he wasn't in any state to talk and we couldn't exactly wait around to interrogate him. We patted them down though and got their wallets. Haven't looked through them yet, we had to bail before the cops landed on us."

"It wasn't a professional hit."

"Hell no. Strictly amateur night. I think they were hired by someone who doesn't know much about hiring hitmen."

"Great, that narrows it down."

Kenny sighed. "Get back to the motel and bring Tweek with you. We can figure out what's going on there."

"You forgot to say over."

"Fuck you. Over and out. Asshole."

Craig replaced the radio and sat on the bench beside Tweek, wondering how the hell he was going to explain himself to the man. Dropping back into his life after several years of relative peace and spiriting him away from a firefight on the back of a motorcycle might not have been the best way to re-establish contact.

"Um... are you gonna take off that helmet?"

Tweek shook his head emphatically, the helmet sliding around since it wasn't securely fastened. "I can't take it off," he said rapidly, his voice muffled. "Somebody t-tried to – _gnk – _shoot me and if they followed me here, GAH, they might try to shoot me again and if I take the helmet off I'm gonna die. _ACK!_"

"We weren't followed," said Craig.

Tweek flipped up the visor on the helmet, staring at Craig with wide hazel eyes. Craig bit his lip. Tweek was panicked and confused, but he was also getting good and pissed off.

"So what's going on, _gnk_? Why were those guys trying to kill me? GAH! Why were you talking about kidnapping for?" His eyes narrowed slightly. "What the hell are you doing here?"

The tone wasn't accusatory, but Craig couldn't help wincing a little anyway. "Um, the other guys could explain this better than me. We really should go meet them."

"Are you crazy? What if those guys know where you live and come looking for me?"

"Those guys are too busy being dead," replied Craig. "Look, I can't explain everything here. Come with me and can sort out a way to keep you safe."

Tweek looked like he might be about to argue, then he dropped his gaze and nodded. Satisfied, Craig headed back to the bike and got on, waiting for Tweek to catch up.

Tweek paused for a moment before getting on the bike and Craig wondered if he was having doubts about its safety again. He was about to give some reassurance when Tweek spoke. "If those guys are _ack_, trying to kill _me_, then why are _you_ here?"

Craig gunned the engine, momentarily considering spinning some line, then remembering Elliot fucking Bolton and deciding he'd probably screwed Tweek's life up enough for one day. Probably enough for a lifetime. "Because it's my job."

**~:~**

"That could have gone better," commented Gregory as Craig strode in through the door of the room, hustling Tweek ahead of him.

"No shit," growled Craig. "I didn't exactly get much of a choice."

"Hey Tweek," said Kenny absently. "There's ice coffee or sodas in the cooler over there."

Tweek went over to where Kenny indicated, trying to control his shakes. He knew Craig and Kenny and thought he recognised the blonde guy – something about the accent jogged his memory – but the dark haired man with the stubble and the scowl was a total stranger. Who the hell were they and what was going on?

Should he be thinking about making a break for the door? No, they all had guns, he was convinced of it. Shit. Shit shit shit. He must have been insane to come here. But then, what else was there to do?

"I don't get why those guys were trying to _kill_ Tweek," Craig said, sounding incredibly peeved. "I thought they needed him alive."

"Need me?" squeaked Tweek.

"I'm beginning to think that someone else is involved here," said Gregory. "Someone who _doesn't_ want the prophecy to occur. In that case, the easiest and most effective way to ensure he can't be involved is to dispose of him beforehand."

"_Dispose_ of me?"

"How do they know who he is though?" asked Kenny. "I mean, we know because Kyle recognised him, but who else would?"

"Can someone tell me..."

"The carvings aren't exactly a secret," Gregory pointed out. "We really don't have enough information to come to a conclusion."

"_GAHHH!_"

The four men stopped their discussion and turned to look at Tweek, who was holding an unopened can of ice coffee and twitching noticeably.

"I don't know what any of you are talking about! Tell me what's going on! I deserve to know!"

Gregory glanced at Craig. "You didn't tell him anything?"

Craig shrugged. "Hey, I don't get most of it myself. I thought you could do it."

Rolling his eyes, Gregory introduced himself and Christophe, rightly guessing that Tweek wouldn't know who they were, telling him the bare bones of what they knew. About the carvings in Peru, the possibility that Tweek was involved in some kind of ancient prophecy, the fact that it looked like bad news for the whole planet. He glossed over the finer points, such as the fact that Tweek would need to be sacrificed to bring the prophecy about, but it didn't seem to matter. By the time he finished, Tweek was sitting at the end of one of the beds, head in his hands, shaking like a leaf.

"I can't do this!" He dragged at double handfuls of hair. "GAH! I just can't! Too much pressure! It's too much pressure!"

"Sorry Tweek, but you don't get much of a choice," said Kenny cheerfully. "You can't change those carvings and no one's going to leave you alone just because you can't take it."

"GAH!"

"Nice going Kenny," muttered Craig. "Come on Tweek, we're not about to let anything happen to you."

"Otherwise, we won't get paid," added Christophe, his own odd attempt at being reassuring.

Tweek wasn't listening. He'd been shot at, someone had tried to kill him, his ex-boyfriend had shown up out of the blue, he'd been on a motorcycle _twice_, he was being told he was part of a prophecy regarding some major global catastrophe and it wasn't even fucking lunchtime yet. After many years of sedentary boredom, it was more than he could cope with.

Kenny looked on, alarmed, as Tweek began experiencing a meltdown, rocking himself without taking his hands out of his hair, whimpering. "Shit Craig, do something!"

"Uh..." Craig looked like he didn't know where to begin.

"You always knew how to calm him down."

"That was fucking years ago!"

Kenny gave him an 'I-don't-believe-you' look. "So? You gonna just watch him?"

Craig crossed over and sat on the bed next to Tweek, grabbing his hands and gently untangling them from his hair. "Come on Tweekers, chill. It'll all work out."

"This isn't like getting a fucking F in history," snapped Tweek without looking up. Kenny gave a snort of laughter and Craig flipped him off.

"They're all trying to kill me!" Tweek's volume was gradually increasing and Craig continued trying to calm him, noticing Gregory getting up, moving behind them and out of sight.

"Tweek! No one's going to kill you. We're gonna take you somewhere safe and wait for all this to blow over."

"There's nowhere safe! Gah! NOWHERE! _GAH_!"

There was a faint noise like a rushing of air behind them. Tweek stiffened suddenly and Craig had just enough time to catch him as he slumped to the side, lying him on the bed and pulling the dart out of the back of his neck He gave Gregory a disbelieving look.

"I can't believe you just did that."

Gregory put aside the tranquilliser gun that accompanied them on most missions, just in case they needed to disable someone without killing them, which happened a lot more often than one would imagine. "He'll be much calmer when he's had some rest."

"Right. Because being in the clutches of someone who _drugged_ him is gonna make him feel all kinds of better. I'm working with madmen!"

Kenny grinned. "And you're just _now_ working this out?"

"I have other news," said Gregory, ignoring Craig's outburst. "I'm afraid we're running out of time."

"What do you mean?" asked Kenny. "This lunar thing isn't for almost a week."

"The seventh sign that Professor Chalmers spoke of was a comet," said Gregory. "It arrived last night and it did some strange things to the orbit of the moon. The long reaching effects are not as yet apparent, but it did cause the earthquake we felt last night."

Christophe punched Kenny in the arm before he could make a joke about the earth moving.

"One immediate effect that _is_ known is that it's brought forward the date of the lunar eclipse." Gregory looked solemn. "It's tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow _night_?" Craig ran a hand through his hair, having to restrain himself from yanking on it like Tweek did. "Are you sure? You're not just saying that so you can sing are you?"

"I'm afraid not."

"So, what are we going to do with 'im?" Christophe indicated to the comatose Tweek.

"For now, I think we should take him with us, back to South Park."

"Are you _crazy_?" Craig stood up and began pacing. "Doesn't all this suggest we should be taking him a _long way_ from South Park?"

"In ideal circumstances, yes. But we have nowhere to take him that we can be certain is safe, not without making a few arrangements and that takes time. We need to get out of here before anyone connects us with Tweek and what happened today. At least if he's with us, we can protect him."

It wasn't okay, but Craig couldn't think of an alternative and what Gregory said made sense, even though he was pretty sure it was going to go horribly wrong somehow. "Fine. Y'know, they put you in prison for drugging guys and taking them home with you."

Gregory ignored the jibe. "Kenny, Christophe, get our things and let's get moving. Craig, can you get Tweek into the van without attracting too much attention?"

Craig stared at him incredulously. "He's unconscious!"

"Then you'll have to be quite quick."

Bitching under his breath, Craig hoisted Tweek over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, glaring at Kenny in a way that suggested jokes were not a good idea. Gregory grabbed his laptop and the van keys, opening the door for Craig and accompanying them out, leaving Kenny and Christophe to get everything else.

"We get all the fun jobs," said Kenny ruefully, grabbing his rucksack and shoving the tranquilliser gun and anything else lying around in it, while Christophe went around the room with a rag, wiping clean the surfaces and walls in the hopes of ridding them of prints.

"Should I take ze sheets?"

"There's probably enough DNA on those things to confuse the cops, if they go that far." Kenny noticed Tweek's can of coffee on the bed and grabbed it – leave nothing with prints behind was a good rule – and as he did so, his foot nudged something. Looking down, he saw a cell phone lying partially hidden under the bed.

"You lose your phone Mole?"

"_Non_."

Kenny picked it up curiously, wondering if it had been left by someone else – he was pretty sure it wasn't Craig's – when it bleeped once, indicating an incoming text. The screen lit up and revealed a photo as the wallpaper; Tweek sitting beside a guy he knew from watching the apartment that morning, the ever-exciting Elliot Bolton.

"It's Tweek's," he said, accessing the new text. "Must have fallen out of his pocket when Craig picked him up. Huh, look at that. There's a message from his boyfriend. Heard something went down in the coffee shop, making sure Tweek's okay."

"Does 'e know Tweek was zere?"

"Don't think so, he's just checking Tweek's not spazzing out."

Kenny and Christophe looked at the phone, exchanging smirks as they both had the same idea.

"You know, when _Craig_ found out Tweek was in trouble, he was ready to go racing off right then," said Kenny, assuming an exaggeratedly thoughtful look.

"_Oui_." Christophe nodded, playing along while trying to look serious. "Zis Bolton sends a text message. I don't think zat man is very _nice_."

"You're _so_ right," said Kenny, a grin crossing his face. "Maybe it would help Tweek if he were out of touch for the next couple of days."

"And 'e _is _supposed to be in 'iding." Christophe presented the garbage bag they'd been putting their trash in – never leave anything that might leave prints behind – and Kenny turned off the phone, dropping it in the bag among the soda cans and cheesy poof wrappers.

"Come on," he said, grabbing his rucksack and doing a quick check to make sure there was nothing left behind. "Let's get moving before someone starts looking for us."


	8. Meanwhile, Back In South Park

**Author Note:** Huge thanks to The Brat Prince, , Kenneth22, KittyBePraised (signed in, lol) and Hypothisos for the awesome reviews and the feedback on possible upcoming stories! And to thequillofdestiny for the shoutout too. The Brat Prince made a good point in review – not the one about the hottest assassin team ever (although this is definitely true!), but that it's time to shift the focus from the Creek. Fortunately, this chapter contains gratuitous amounts of Mr Broflovski. Here's hoping you all enjoy it!

**&*&*&*&*&*&**

Since Kenny's departure from South Park, Kyle's life had been hectic. Professor Chalmers had insisted they attempt to locate the exact spot the carvings indicated, leading to much traipsing around the woods and the more easily accessible parts of the mountains. This in turn led to two of the other three group members almost coming down with frostbite, having woefully underestimated the weather conditions.

"I don't know why it's so important to find that _exact_ spot," bitched Lindsay, an out-of-state girl who hid her marginal attractiveness behind unflattering clothes, trying to get some feeling back into her feet by dunking them in a bowl of warm water.

"Archaeology is the search for facts," replied Kyle cheerfully. Having grown up in the area, he knew exactly what to expect and had dressed appropriately.

"Facts, yeah. There's no way anything on this wall is ever gonna actually happen, we're just here to disprove it."

"You've never been to South Park before," muttered Kyle. Lindsay frowned and he changed the subject. "We can't disprove anything if we're waiting in the wrong place."

"I guess," said Lindsay gloomily. "Wish we could have gone to Peru. At least it's warm there... are you feeling okay Kyle? You've gone all pale."

When they weren't searching the surrounding areas, they were safe in the warmth of the motel, drinking coffee and examining the carvings themselves. The more Kyle examined them, the more unnerved he got. The uncannily accurate rendering of Tweek lying dead was making him wonder if he should have left well enough alone, not that he believed his non-involvement would have helped. Craig had tried non-involvement in the last Peruvian mess and it hadn't made any difference.

_Everyone in South Park has to save the world at least once,_ Stan had said once when they were about thirteen. _It's like, the law or something._ But this wasn't so much saving the world as endangering it.

Careful examination by the group was revealing more and more, although it was taking time. Kyle suggested that some of the markings around the carving of Park County might indicate a constellation, but it matched no recognised ones and the idea was abandoned. Apart from that, there were no real clues as to the spot where Tweek's fate was supposed to be decided, just something else to add to the evidence that the entire prophecy was nonsense.

Kyle took some time out that evening to visit his parents and brother. Gerald was as abruptly affectionate as ever, giving Kyle a quick hug and asking if he needed any extra money – his circumstances were better than Stan's, who had to subsidise his savings by working part time as well as studying. Sheila made up for it, bustling and fussing and generally making Kyle feel about eight years old again.

"Kyle, you're too thin, are you eating properly?"

"Yes mom."

"You're not getting pizza every night, are you?"

"No mom."

"Now you're humouring me, stop it."

"Yes mom." Kyle dodged as Sheila pretended to clip him around the ear.

"I'll make you some nice kishke and some latkes to take back with you..."

"It's fine mom!"

A part of him was very tempted to tell Ike he knew all about his sideline in computer hacking, but decided to hold the information back to use the next time he needed to blackmail his little brother. Besides, Ike was overly excited about being in line for an award, the ceremony being held in Denver the following evening. The Broflovski's were planning to spend the day in the city before finding out if Ike's innovative website design programme had triumphed over similar achievements by 'young programmers'. Kyle would have liked to go with them, but his own studies had to come first.

He escaped back to the motel – his family was great, but his mom could be a bit too much sometimes – and tried to get in touch with Kenny, hoping to find out how he was doing. There was no response, going straight to the answering service. Sighing, Kyle left a message, ditched the phone and went to bed. He hoped dragging Kenny into this business hadn't got him hurt, or worse. Kenny always came back... but that wasn't the point.

Kenny had been right; there was no reason he couldn't have called Ike himself, knowing full well that his little brother could hunt down Tweek without even leaving his desk. They could have spoken to Tweek without involving anyone else at all. But as soon as he realised they would have to track someone down, he had immediately jumped on the legitimate excuse to spend more time with Kenny – even though he had known that Craig would ultimately get involved and all that shit from their seventeenth year would get brought up again.

As much as he wanted to justify himself by arguing that Tweek would need the protection, he knew that wasn't his primary reason for his actions. No, his primary reason was currently not answering his damn phone and, thanks to Kyle, probably fighting hoards of druids howling for Tweek's overly-caffeinated blood.

Damn it.

In spite of the less than comfortable bed and the lingering worries about Cartman's mom, he managed to fall asleep, only to be awoken before dawn by someone shaking him.

"Stmmphll?" he muttered, hoping they'd go away and leave him in peace. Instead, the shaking continued. And it wasn't _him_ being shaking, it was the entire bed. Sitting up, he scrubbed at his eyes as he realised the whole room was trembling.

Someone knocked at the door and he stumbled over, opening it to find Chalmers standing there, seemingly wide awake and unperturbed by the shaking building. Fuzzily, Kyle wondered how he got up and to the room so quickly, if it wasn't for his robe and bare feet he would have assumed he had still been up.

"Is this something we should be worried about?" Chalmers asked, seeming quite calm.

"Only if it's the volcano again," said Kyle with a yawn. "And we usually get some warning about that."

Chalmers walked into the room and Kyle made his way to the window, the view outside chasing away all thoughts of sleep. "Oh shit."

"What?"

"You'd better look at this." Kyle moved over so the Professor could see out of the window too, the comet trailing through the sky clearly visible even without any equipment to see it with.

Chalmers frowned. "I think our project just became a lot more serious."

There was no question of waiting until daylight to resume studying; the research group hauled themselves out of their beds, dressed hurriedly and began working with renewed urgency on the carvings. Chalmers admitted to the rest of the group that they might have a lead on the person depicted, although he neglected to mention Kyle's involvement. Lindsay laid off the translations in order to access South Parks geological webpage, hoping she could find somewhere that was a logical spot for human sacrifice, blinking in confusion as she read some of Randy's blog entries.

"No offence Kyle, but this town is the weirdest place I've ever been!"

"Yeah, a lot of people say that," replied Kyle absently, rifling through a book to cross-check something.

"See if there's any news reports on that comet," said Chalmers.

Lindsay found a news site and read for a few minutes. "According to this, it's really messed with the moons gravity, there's some really strange meteorological stuff going on, but it's thought to be temporary."

Chalmers looked up sharply as soon as she mentioned the moon. "Let me see that."

Lindsay handed the laptop to Chalmers and stood, stretching her cramped limbs. "This whole town is just surreal," she complained, walking over to the window. "It's not even light out yet..."

"Yeah, it's usually dark in the mornings here," said Kyle, not really listening. "And it's still pretty early."

"Was the view always like this?"

Lindsay's odd tone made the other members of the group look up. She was staring out of the window, hands on her hips. "It's just that, remember when Kyle said the carvings looked like some constellation?"

The people in the room, with the exception of Chalmers, got up quickly and hurried to the window. Kyle found the paper he'd been outlining his theory on, holding it up to the window. The relative gloom of the morning meant that the stars were still visible, but only just. The moon was brighter, three-quarters of it showing. And it was definitely not in the same place in relation to the other celestial bodies that it had been earlier in the night.

In fact, it exactly matched the carvings.

"According to this website, the comet's effects shouldn't last more than a week," said Chalmers. "But it's changed the timing of the eclipse. It's going to happen much earlier than anticipated."

Kyle's earlier worries of Kenny getting between Tweek and power-hungry druids suddenly intensified and he had to actively fight the urge to run for his phone. "When?"

"Tomorrow night. We'd better pinpoint what that constellation is telling us. Get some pictures before it gets too light."

The rest of the day was spent in frenzied activity. Kyle managed to pinpoint the location to an area approximately half a mile from Starks pond, although there was no way to be more specific than an area of two hundred square feet. When he finally got the chance, he called Kenny, still receiving no reply, his parents, who were fine, and Stan, who had slept through the whole thing and hadn't even been aware something was happening.

Kyle shook his head in amazement at being told this. "The whole state shook! How did you not wake up?"

"I dunno," answered Stan, sounding mildly embarrassed. "Anyone in South Park fallen to looting yet?"

"Meh, there was a little, but it's all done with now. Hey, have you heard from Kenny?"

"Yesterday evening, but he was working."

"Oh, right."

"He doesn't like your tutor too much."

"Doesn't he?" Kyle frowned. "I thought he was a bit moody when they met, but he never said anything."

There was a pause, then Stan sighed. "I really wish I was a girl sometimes."

"Huh?"

"Yeah, that's what _he_ said. If I was a girl, I wouldn't be staying the hell out of this."

There was a knock at his door and Kyle wandered over to open it. "I have to go. Stan, you're so weird sometimes."

They got back to work, Lindsay finally bringing up the question the entire group had clearly been wanting to ask. "So, if the carvings really do turn out to be accurate... what are _we_ going to do about it?"

"I'm hoping we stop it," replied Chalmers coldly. Kyle glanced up at him quickly. The tone was so far from the man's usual voice that for a moment, he didn't recognise it.

"How?" asked Lindsay, honestly curious.

"I don't know," said Chalmers irritably. "That's why we're spending all our time on these translations!"

Kyle looked back at his work, troubled. In his experience, prophecies weren't so easily averted. He hoped Kenny had the good sense to keep Tweek well away from South Park.

**~:~**

Kenny hoisted Tweek over his shoulder and carried him into the house. Craig had claimed he had to go put his bike away, Gregory hadn't even offered to help and Christophe – well, he'd probably decide to chain Tweek up as a precaution and it was going to be hard enough when the man finally regained consciousness without having to explain _that_.

Dumping Tweek in the nearest half-way tidy bedroom, Kenny wandered into the hallway and pulled his phone out, turning it on and checking his voice mail. Fourteen messages, one from Stan, one from his mother, the rest from Kyle telling him to call back as soon as he could, or asking why he had yet to call back, or muttering "God_dammit_!" before hanging up.

Kenny shoved the phone back into his pocket, feeling concerned. He didn't believe in coincidence and that someone had located Tweek worried him. That someone was willing to kill him to foil the prophecy worried him even more.

He was going to have to talk to Kyle, urgently.

Making his way downstairs, he found Gregory and Christophe in the living room, Gregory flipping through news channels in an attempt to find something more on the comets effects, Christophe drinking deeply from a can of soda. He shoved his hands in his pockets and surveyed the scene for a moment. "I gotta go out."

Christophe lowered the can and gave him a deeply suspicious look. "Now? You want to leave me to deal with ze crazy man up ze stairs and _'im_?" He flapped an arm in the general direction of the back door, clearly indicating the absent Craig.

"I have to, uh, talk to Kyle about something."

Gregory raised an eyebrow. "Oh really? Like maybe, how anyone knew enough about our targets whereabouts to send hitmen after him?"

Christophe growled, pulling a cigarette from the packet. "Oh great. You told 'im?"

Kenny sighed. He _hated _how perceptive Gregory was. "Come on guys, it's Kyle! You know he's not gonna tell anyone!"

"Someone knew where 'e was," snapped Christophe. "Zis is what 'appens when you think with your dick!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Christophe snorted rudely. "_Oui_, because when it comes to Kyle, you use your _upstairs _brain at all times."

Kenny aimed for an expression of innocent confusion mingled with outrage. "Hey!"

"Find out who he told," said Gregory, cutting short the impending argument. "Since our hitmen weren't polite enough to keep their employers names in their wallets, its our best shot at finding out who wanted Tweek dead before he fulfilled the prophecy."

Craig came in through the back door, snagging a soda out of the kitchen before entering the living room and glancing at the three men with a marked lack of interest. "I'm gonna get changed."

"Um..." Kenny gave a smile, the kind small boys employ when caught doing something they shouldn't, but are hoping to charm their way out of trouble. "The thing is..."

Craig glared at him. "You didn't."

"Well, the spare room's out, Clyde puked all over the mattress last time he was here, remember, and we haven't got a new one yet..."

"Kenny."

"And I haven't got around to washing my sheets for a couple of weeks and that'd probably freak him out..."

"I'm going to kill you."

"I was gonna ditch him in the bathtub, but what if one of us needs to pee..."

"Slowly and painfully."

"And can you imagine the fuss if I used Christophe's room?"

"I 'ave warned you before about finding your unconscious friends in my room!"

"And I know you did your laundry a couple days ago, so I thought..."

"You put him in _my_ room?"

"If zey do not want to be 'it over ze 'ead with a shovel, zey should not be in my room!"

"C'mon Craig, it was the cleanest place in the house!"

"You dumped my _ex-boyfriend_ in _my_ bed?"

"Craig, calm down..."

"My _heavily sedated _and _kidnapped_ ex-boyfriend?"

"Craig! Take your feelthy 'ands off my shovel!"

"You _die_ now McCormick!"

"Shit!"

Kenny ducked as the shovel swished past his ear, hitting the wall and leaving a sizeable dent, plaster and paint chips raining onto the floor. Deciding this might be a good time to go find Kyle, he ran for the door, Craig's threats and Christophe's angry protests about the misuse of his shovel ringing in his ears.

Almost as soon as he left the property, he heard the familiar sound of the Indiana Jones theme tune emerging from his pants. Fishing out his phone, he answered it. "Hey Kyle."

"Kenny! I've been trying to get hold of you since last night!"

"Are you still at the motel?"

"Well, no." Kyle sounded confused by Kenny's abrupt tone. "I'm at my parents house. I thought it might do me some good to get away from work for a while."

"I'll be right there."

"Are you..."

Kenny cut the call off, not wanting to have to explain himself. Belatedly he realised it would have been faster to take his own motorcycle, an ageing Kawasaki Ninja that made his friends shudder and remind him of his track record with fatal accidents, but he didn't feel like going back for it and anyway, it wasn't a long walk and it might help him to work out an alternative explanation for how the hitmen had known where to find Tweek.

By the time he got to the Broflovski house, he hadn't come up with a good alternative. He also had the beginning of a headache, caused by stress and tiredness. He had been up the whole of the night before, watching Tweek's apartment; then been involved in a fight and a kidnapping just when he had been planning to take a nap. Catching up on the drive back hadn't been an option, since Gregory had Tweek in the passenger seat of his car and he'd had to return with Craig and Christophe in the van. He just had to hope the Sheila kept a large supply of strong coffee in the house – and _that_ thought brought him back around to the scene in the coffee shop earlier that day and back to wondering where the hitmen had come from.

Kyle threw open the door almost as soon as he knocked, taking one look at Kenny and hustling him into the house. Kenny noticed that the other man had made himself comfortable, hair still wet from the shower and dressed in faded clothes that he wouldn't have worn in front of his tutor, no matter how informal the field study was supposed to be. In fact, he had a sneaking suspicion the T-shirt might be his, one borrowed the last time Kyle had crashed at his house. In spite of all that, Kyle seemed a little weary himself, although filled with a nervous energy that Kenny couldn't share.

"I'm glad you're okay," said Kyle, giving Kenny a sweeping look as if to make sure he wasn't hiding any injuries. "You want a drink?"

"Coffee," replied Kenny, trying to suppress a yawn. "Lots and lots of coffee."

Kyle headed to the kitchen, Kenny following and removing his hoody, leaning on the door frame to watch him make the drink. Kyle glanced back over his shoulder. "Did you hear about the comet?"

"We heard."

"Looks like there might be something in this prophecy after all." Kyle was talking as a way to fill the silence, a tactic Kenny had found worked on most people. He supposed he was making Kyle a little nervous with his behaviour. Usually, he would have been joking around or at least making conversation.

"Did you see Tweek?"

Suddenly, Kenny decided he didn't want to use tricks and tactics to get information out of Kyle. He wanted a straight answer, he wanted to know why something he had trusted Kyle not to share had ended up almost costing Tweek his life. He was tired and cranky, the situation was getting worse and he was beginning to get pissed off with the whole business. More than that, he felt stupid. If Kyle _had_ shared what he knew with someone, then Kenny had been putting his trust in the wrong person all along.

"Yeah, we saw Tweek. Funny story actually. Seems like someone who knew where he was hired someone to gun him down."

Kyle whirled around to face Kenny, knocking the cup over and spilling coffee grounds across the surface. _"What?"_

Kenny nodded, keeping his expression carefully neutral. "Uh-huh. We're doing a simple stakeout and all of a sudden there's bullets flying everywhere. Doncha just hate it when that happens?"

"But – were you hurt? Are you okay?"

"Takes more than a bullet to get rid of me."

"Oh my God, you could have been – what about the others, are they okay? How's Tweek?"

"Everyone lived through it. Well, everyone on our side anyway. Blew our cover sky-high of course, we had to get Tweek out of there in a hurry. The part that none of us can understand is how they knew where he was. Not just what town he lived in, but where he worked and his coffee habits." Suspicious blue eyes met startled green. "Any ideas?"

Kyle looked confused for a moment. "Wait, you think _I_ had something to do with this?"

"I don't know Kyle!" Kenny reminded himself to keep his cool and lowered his voice. "The only people who knew anything about his location were the four of us, you and Ike. You know about the prophecies and there's not many people outside of South Park who'd believe them. It's a pretty big coincidence."

"Shit Kenny!" Kyle scowled as his temper, never exactly even, began to rise. "You really think I'd go to all the trouble of hiring a hitman to kill Tweek, who's miles away from here – and drag _you_ into the firing line, when I could have done it all without you ever knowing a thing?"

"That's not what I thought!" Kenny ran a hand through his hair, realising he needed to explain himself better. Kyle was clearly infuriated, hands clenched, brow furrowed. Kenny rarely had Kyle's anger focused on him and although it was fun to watch, he didn't like being the target so much.

"I just thought you might have mentioned it to someone," said Kenny, wondering when he had started to backtrack. "Like your Professor. Told them where Tweek was."

"I _didn't_!" Kyle started to pace the kitchen, agitated, using his hands for emphasis as he spoke. "I _wouldn't_. I've been working on the stupid carvings all day and I haven't told anyone that I even _know_ Tweek, let alone where he is, or _who_ he is. You asked me not to tell anyone, so I didn't tell _any_one. I wouldn't put you in danger like that."

Kenny sighed, the fight going out of him. Even though he couldn't think of another explanation, Kyle was insisting he had nothing to do with it – and Kenny believed him. He knew that Kyle wouldn't deceive him about something so important, just as he had known all along that Kyle wouldn't have done something to harm Tweek even if the world _was_ at stake.

_You need to stop thinking wiz your dick,_ sneered a heavily accented voice inside his head.

_Fuck off Christophe,_ thought Kenny. _You're French, what do you know?_

"Okay." Kenny rubbed at his forehead tiredly. "So, you didn't tell anyone about Tweek. I've just got to figure out how those guys could have found him. Did you write it down anywhere? In a diary or something?"

"_Diary_? What am I, a girl?"

"I'm sure you're all man."

Kyle rolled his eyes, clearly trying to hold on to his aggravation, although he seemed to have mellowed a little. "Whatever dude. I don't have a diary. The only..."

Kenny stood up straight as he saw Kyle's expression change. "What?"

"I looked some stuff up on my laptop," said Kyle, shooting Kenny a worried look. "I wanted to see how far away the town was, where in town he worked."

"Uh-huh," said Kenny, his mind racing. "This is important; could anyone have looked on your laptop since you checked it out?"

Kyle bit his lip, nodding reluctantly. "We all have them, it's easier to work stuff out with the computer y'know? I checked it out while I was on a break, same day you left..." He reddened slightly. "Since then, it's been on yesterday and most of today. We've been working in the Professors room but we've all been wandering in and out and I've been away from it lots of times. I guess someone could have checked through my history."

"Like who?"

"Anyone on the research team. They've all been alone in there at some point. And we did leave the room empty a few times, so maybe someone who was working there, or one of the other guests..."

Kenny saw how dejected Kyle was getting and tried to smile. "Hey, chill out. You weren't to know."

"It was stupid of me." Kyle looked at the floor, the frown back on his face. "I should have _thought_. I should have remembered this isn't just some research project, I – I could have got you killed."

"I'm fine," Kenny pointed out. "We're all fine. And hell, at least Tweek takes us seriously now. Any chance of getting that coffee?"

Kyle turned, picking up the cup he'd knocked over and adding more coffee, still clearly angry with himself. "Well, I learned something today. Always delete your internet history."

"_Now_ you're thinking like a mercenary." Kenny accepted the drink and grinned at Kyle. "We'll make an Indiana Broflovski out of you yet! Next thing, you'll be cracking a whip and fighting off Nazis..." He trailed off, finding the image strangely attractive and taking a sip of his coffee to cover the pause, burning his lip. "Yowch!"

"Dick," said Kyle affectionately, grabbing a drink for himself and heading back to the living room. "There's only one Nazi around here and I've been fighting _him_ for years."

"I can give you a bargain rate if you ever want him to disappear permanently..."

"Kenny!" Kyle dropped onto the couch, putting his cup on the table next to him. Kenny took the seat beside him, stifling another yawn.

"Look, Kenny." Kyle turned slightly, so he could face Kenny more easily. "I really am sorry about the laptop. And for yelling at you. Guess it was my fault all along, huh?"

"We don't know that for sure," said Kenny. "And y'know, there's a way you can make it up to me."

"Sure, what?"

Kenny gave a lop-sided smile. "You staying here long?"

"Well, I wanna find out how Ike did at this awards thing. I was gonna stay until they get back, maybe spend the night, but I can leave early if..."

"Nah, that's not it. It's just that, I haven't had any sleep for the past couple of days and I can't really go home right now because Christophe's pissed at me and Craig already tried to kill me once today..."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing!"

"Right." Kyle paused as something occurred to him. "Wait. If Craig and Christophe are at your place, then who's watching Tweek?"

"Uh..."

"You said you'd got him to go with you."

"Well... he's in a safe place."

Kyle stared at Kenny, seeing right through the innocent expression. "Please tell me he's not in South Park."

"Okay, he's not in South Park."

"You're a terrible liar."

"I'm a great liar! You just know me too well."

Kyle pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture he'd picked up after years of hanging out with Stan. "This is just _great_."

"Where were we gonna go, Detroit?"

"How did he take the news? What's he doing?"

"He spazzed out. I left him, uh, sleeping it off."

"How's Craig doing?"

"He touched the shovel. He's probably dead. But just in case he isn't." Kenny gave Kyle his most appealing look. "I'll tell you everything, but I'm _really_ tired. Mind if I crash out here for a couple of hours?"

"Go for it," said Kyle. "Take my room. My mom probably changed the sheets after I stayed over last time."

"Clean sheets," said Kenny with an exaggerated look of rapture. "What more could a man want?"

Kyle could think of at least one thing, but after years of practice, he was good at keeping quiet about it.


	9. The Day I'll Make You Say

**Author Note:** With thanks to Kenneth22 (thanks for the PM dude), KittyBePraised, Hypothisos and The Brat Prince for the reviews! I'm really glad everyone liked the conversations, cuz it was one of my favourite ones to write.

This chapter took me forever and is made of fail. Sorry 'bout that. I really struggled with it and in the end, just figured it was as good as it was going to get and no amount of frigging around was going to improve matters. So here it is. Oh, and there's a part in the story I only put in so I could use the word 'Byle', lol. Leave a review so I know how to do better in the future!

**&*&*&*&*&**

Kyle stood at the entrance to his childhood bedroom, looking in through the slightly opened door. The walls were free of posters, since his mother had only let him have three up at any one time and taken them down as soon as he went to college, but there were still the same books on his shelves, a few pictures of his friends tacked down one side of the mirror, the desk where he had done his homework since he was in elementary school, although the computer was no longer there. The single bed was pushed up against the wall and lying on it was Kenny, sprawled on top of the covers, one arm curled under his head and his legs precariously close to falling out of the bed altogether. His phone was on the table beside the bed, presumably he'd made a call before crashing out. He was snoring lightly and didn't even stir when the small beam of light from the hallway fell into the room.

Quietly, Kyle closed the door and went back down the stairs. He'd been planning to wake Kenny up, since it was getting pretty late and he'd been up since before dawn himself, but he didn't have the heart. Instead, he checked the time and realising it was almost eleven, called his fathers phone.

It picked up after a couple of rings. "Hi Kyle, you okay?"

"Hey dad, I'm cool. I just wanted to see how Ike did."

"He won." The pride in Gerald's voice was unmistakable. "First place, a whopping great check and there are companies screaming to take him on with a six figure salary and a company car."

"That's great!"

"You've both done so well for yourselves," continued Gerald, sounding a little emotional and Kyle wondered just how much champagne the celebration had contained.

"Gerald!" Kyle heard his mom's voice in the background and grinned, knowing that at any moment she'd wrestle the phone from her husband.

"Kyle, hello! Did your father tell you the news?"

"Yeah mom, it's awesome!"

"It certainly is boobalah! Are you working hard?"

"I've been working since about five this morning. I'm actually at home right now, I was gonna wait here and congratulate Ike in person."

"Oh, we've decided to get a room in Denver for the night. Only, your father's been drinking and Ike's meeting so many important people, we thought we'd stay instead of coming all the way home."

"Oh, okay. Do you mind if I stay here tonight?"

"Of course not! It's your home too honey, there's _always_ a place for you!"

Kyle fought back a laugh. It sounded like his dad wasn't the only one drinking and since he rarely saw his mother with anything but iron control, it was amusing to hear her attempting to sound normal. "Okay mom. I'll let you get back to the party, tell Ike I called."

"I'll let him know sweetie. Byeeee!"

Chuckling, Kyle ended the call and glanced over at the couch. He'd have to curl up, but he should be comfortable enough until morning, if he got the spare blanket out. Of course, he could always borrow his parents bed, or Ike's, but he rejected the idea. When he was Ike's age, it pissed him off when someone went in his room without his permission and the double in his mom and dads room was where they did – _stuff_. Stuff he really didn't want to think about.

Just as he was making his way up the stairs to grab the spare blanket, there was a knock at the door and he paused, wondering who it could be. Most likely it was Craig or Christophe, looking for Kenny – but they would have called Kenny rather than travel over if there had been a problem. Alternatively, it could be the bloodthirsty druids he'd been envisioning all day, but why would they bother to come here, when everyone thought he was at the motel?

A second knock sounded and Kyle went to the door, opening up and looking out to see who was there. To his surprise, Professor Chalmers was stood on the doorstep.

"Oh, hey!" Kyle opened the door wider to allow him admittance and the Professor entered, looking around the house in interest.

"Hello Kyle, I was hoping to find you here."

"Yeah, I was waiting for my parents to come back. They're at an awards ceremony with my little brother."

"Oh, really?" Chalmers took off his coat without being invited. "I was wondering why you hadn't got back to the motel yet."

"Well, you said we couldn't do anything else today, so I thought..."

"Don't worry about it," said Chalmers smoothly. "We can't do anything else without a good nights rest. Better to look at things with fresh eyes in the morning."

"Do you want a drink?" asked Kyle, wondering vaguely why the Professor had come here if not to find out why he wasn't working on the translations.

"Sure, I'll have a scotch and water if there is any."

Kyle fixed the drink, mixing himself a weak whisky and cola that he didn't really want. He didn't want to seem unsociable after all. Handing Chalmers his glass, he sat on the couch and put his drink untouched on the table. Chalmers sat beside him, taking a sip of the scotch.

"We've made a lot of progress today," he said cheerfully. "We might actually be able to prove that the ancient Peruvians were actually able to tell the future and _that_ is the stuff Nobel Prizes are made of."

Kyle grinned widely. "What, really? You think so?"

"Oh yes. After all, being able to tell the future is a far more exciting prospect than a cleaner burning fuel source. Is there something wrong with your drink?"

"Uh, no." To prove it, Kyle drank about half the glass at once, figuring it was fine since it was barely alcoholic. "Aren't there any other teams going to be researching this though?"

Chalmers took Kyle's glass and went back over to the drinks cabinet, mixing them another glass each and waving a hand dismissively as he poured. "Perhaps, now that the comet has actually appeared. There'll be a lot of fussing about it. But they won't be able to catch up with our research."

He walked back over to the couch and handed Kyle his drink, sitting beside him again. Kyle took a sip and wrinkled his nose. This one was much stronger than the one he had made.

"We'll be ahead of the game, because we've been able to do the ground work while they were sat in some office, mocking the entire idea," Chalmers continued, shifting his position so he could talk without turning his head. His knee brushed lightly against Kyle's and he pulled it back, not stopping his speech. "We have the advantage and _that's _going to help us no end. Our work is going to be big news in the field and _you're_ going to be a part of it."

A thread of excitement trickled down Kyle's back. "I can't believe it, that it could really be so important."

"It is." Chalmers raised his glass. "To the research."

Kyle tapped his own glass to it, chuckling at the toast and taking another drink, going slowly because he really didn't want to be struggling for concentration in the morning.

"And we couldn't have got this far without you Kyle," added Chalmers. "It was you who worked out the constellations on the carvings – that took some real thinking."

Wondering if he was blushing at the praise as much as he thought he was, Kyle tried to cover his pleasure with a modest look that he was almost sure Chalmers could see right through.

"And it was you who recognised the figure in the carvings too."

That took some of the shine off the praise. Kyle thought to Kenny, still crashed out. Kenny hadn't told him what had actually happened when they went after Tweek, just the bare outlines, and he had no idea if Gregory had said anything to Chalmers, and if he had, what that might be. He doubted anyone would be giving away Tweek's whereabouts any time soon, even if the guy was paying them, but what if Chalmers knew they were back in town and asked if he had seen Kenny yet?

"I know there was an element of luck to it, but without you, we'd still be in the dark."

Kyle managed to keep the happy look, but he was thinking back to what Kenny had said, how someone had tried to kill Tweek and that person knew where to find him. Obviously it couldn't be the Professor, but just how did he come to choose the other members of the research team? Could any of them know more than they were telling about the situation and have decided the best way to avert disaster was to kill Tweek? Would they have known enough about his past to go through his laptop in the hopes of finding information and struck lucky?

"Gregory's going to call me in the morning to update me on their findings. With any luck, we can make contact with this Tweek character, see if he'll agree to an interview."

Holding back a laugh at the thought of Tweek agreeing to speak to a total stranger about his part in an imminent disaster, Kyle managed to relax again. Obviously, Chalmers thought the team was still on Tweek's tail in another part of the state and that meant there was no way anyone could realise he was actually back in South Park.

Chalmers glanced at the drink still half-full in Kyle's hand and feeling a little inhospitable, Kyle took another swallow. He was definitely going to refuse a third though, since it would only hinder him in the morning. The Professor would understand.

It seemed that he did, because he put his own drink aside and patted Kyle's knee briskly. "Well, you can't wait for your little brother all night. I think we ought to be getting back to the motel."

"Actually, I was kinda planning on staying here," said Kyle, thinking of Kenny still asleep upstairs. "If that's okay."

Chalmers frowned. "I don't know Kyle, we were hoping to get an early start tomorrow."

"I know, but I'll be back at the motel before anyone else even wakes up, I promise."

"Hmmm. I really think you ought to come back to the motel with me Kyle."

It was Kyle's turn to frown. "Why is it so important where I stay, as long as I'm back in time ready to continue the translations?"

"Well, I thought..." Chalmers looked Kyle straight in the eye and putting his hand back on Kyle's knee. Only this time, instead of a friendly pat, the hand slid it further up his thigh. For a few seconds Kyle froze, then before the hand could reach what was obviously its destination, he shoved himself over to the other side of the couch, out of reach and wondering how to get out of the situation without offending his mentor and completely screwing up his degree.

"Sir – you're married!" There it was, the perfect get-out clause. The Professor could put it down to a moment of madness and they could both forget about it and get on with things.

Chalmers shrugged, leaning further toward Kyle and giving him a serious look. "She's not here. She'll never know." He moved further forward, making up for the space Kyle had put between them, his hand finding its way back onto Kyle's leg and making stroking motions.

_Ohshitohshitohshit, _Kyle cursed mentally, wondering if there was any way for him to scoot even further away without ending up on the floor. Chalmers was attractive in an academic-older-guy kinda way and Kyle had admired him as a mentor for a long time, but he had never considered things going any further, especially since he had thought the man was a hundred per cent straight. The whole weird situation felt all wrong.

"Um. I don't think it's a very good idea. Sir."

For a few seconds, Chalmers continued to stare at Kyle, then to his relief, the older man stood up and took a few steps across the room, deliberately keeping his gaze away from the redhead.

"I'm beginning to wonder if having you on this expedition was a good idea Kyle."

"_What?"_

"Ever since we arrived in South Park, you've been spending a lot more time with your family and friends than you have on the project. I'm beginning to question your commitment." He turned to face Kyle. "And your judgement."

"But – I've been working hard on the project! And if I leave it now, I'll have to make up the credits some other way and that could take another year at Uni!"

"It doesn't have to," replied the Professor pointedly.

Kyle felt his notoriously quick temper begin to rise and he tried to suppress it. He needed to think fast and not while enraged, or he'd lose his place on the research team for sure. But he _was_ angry; this guy was supposed to be the team leader and he was trying to force Kyle to sleep with him by holding the threat of his future well being over his head. When people at the University found out he'd been kicked off the team, it would be almost impossible to find a place on another and _that_ would mean his degree remaining unfinished. Even more than that, he was disillusioned. He had genuinely liked and trusted the Professor and it turned out he was just some sleaze.

_It's just a one-night thing, _he thought hesitantly. _If it's what it takes to get my degree..._

_FUCK that. No one EVER pushed me into something with threats!_

"I won't do it," he said, almost to himself.

"Blackmail huh?"

Kyle and Chalmers both turned to the stairs, startled by the voice. Kenny had made it half-way down without either of them noticing, the dim light and his silence ensuring they didn't see him until he chose to be noticed.

Chalmers glared at the man. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough." Kenny stretched his arms above his head, yawning slightly as he made his way down the rest of the stairs. "Woke up when I heard someone in the house."

Looking seriously rattled, Chalmers tried for damage control. "Well, whatever you _think_ you heard, you missed half the conversation and it might have sounded one way to you taken out of context, but let me assure you..."

"Funny thing about our boss," said Kenny, as Kyle blinked at the sudden change of subject. "He's seriously paranoid. Says you can never tell when the client's telling you the whole truth or if he's hiding something you should know, something that could get you killed. He takes precautions. Insists we plant bugs anywhere we might overhear something relevant to the job. That's why they're planted all over your motel rooms, your cars – and of course, right here in the Broflovski house. So I guess I can listen to the _beginning _of the conversation after all and maybe put it in the context you were talking about."

Kenny smiled innocently as Chalmers reddened. "Funny thing about Kyle as well, he's never been able to keep a low profile. I'm thinking if he lost his place on your 'team', he'd probably go looking for other people who might have lost _their_ places, or even kept them, find out what _they'd _have to say about it. And he'd want copies of this conversation too – from the _beginning_."

Kyle snorted with laughter and tried to straighten his face as Chalmers turned to glare at him. The Professor seemed torn between the need to threaten or cajole them and the knowledge that doing so would only make things worse.

"He'll be back to work in the morning Mr Chalmers," said Kenny, indicating to the front door. "Goodnight!"

Hesitating for only a moment, Chalmers stormed toward the door, threw it open and headed into the snowy Colorado night. Kenny closed the door behind him and sighed.

"You sure know how to pick 'em Kyle."

Kyle rose from the couch, regarding Kenny curiously. "Did you really bug my mom's house?"

"Nah, but he doesn't know that. I bet he spends most of tonight ripping his room apart looking for the bugs though. Asshole."

"Thanks man. I owe you one."

"Huh, s'okay. You would have just turned him down and then got kicked off the team and started some big crusade to get him out of teaching. We'd all have been dragged into it and it'd all be some big drama. It'd be Ike and his kindergarten teacher all over again, although I could live without Cartman dressing as the Dawg this time around."

Laughing at the memory, Kyle slung an arm around Kenny's shoulders. "I can _definitely_ live without all that. You saved my life!"

Kenny winked at him. "Nope, just your virginity."

"Hey! I'm not a virgin!"

"That's right, I forgot all about _Butters_."

"_Dude_," groaned Kyle. "You're never gonna let me live that down, are you?"

"Nope. Bringing up your most embarrassing moments is my sacred duty as your friend."

Kyle laughed quietly. "You're a good friend, Kenny."

And then, because he couldn't seem to stop himself, Kyle broke the promise he'd been repeating to himself for years, leaning closer into Kenny and planting a soft kiss on the other boys lips.

The moment their mouths connected, he knew he shouldn't have done it. He knew it was the stupidest thing he had ever done in his life, far more idiotic than caving in to his mentors blackmail would have been. He knew he had just wrecked everything.

But he _also_ knew that this was going to be the only time this ever happened and he'd better enjoy it while it lasted.

Kenny's lips were deceptively soft, made more so by the contrast of the slight stubble forcing its way through his skin. He tasted faintly of cigarettes and coffee and Jolt cola. Kyle felt the slight, shocked inhalation against his own lips as Kenny took a shaky breath.

And then, _oh god_, Kenny rested a hand on Kyle's neck and increased the pressure of the kiss, snaking his tongue out to glide across the other man's lower lip...

...And just as suddenly pulled away.

The pair stared at each other for long seconds. Kyle was in shock that he'd done such a thing and wondering if he'd imagined the reciprocation. Kenny looked, for the first time in the many years Kyle had known him, completely thrown for a loop.

Backing off further, Kenny turned and made his way into the kitchen.

Kyle closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, cursing his own stupidity. All those years of carefully hiding his attraction, maintaining their friendship, gone because he got carried away. Kenny had never so much as hinted he might be interested in Kyle and Kyle had been careful to do the same, because he considered their friendship far more important than his stupid crush. Now, even if they agreed to forget about it, things would be awkward between them and it would never be the way it had been before. All he would have left was the memory of that kiss.

That kiss. Whoa. His heart was still beating far too fast.

A part of him wanted to run up to his room and let Kenny find his own way out of the house. But it had never been in his nature to hide from things and he knew he had better say something and sort it out right away, rather than planning some speech he would immediately forget.

Hesitantly, he went into the kitchen, expecting to find Kenny getting his hoody. Instead, the blonde was in front of the open fridge, grabbing a bottle of Gerald's beer. Looking over his shoulder and seeing Kyle in the doorway, he grabbed a second bottle and put them both on the counter before going into the drawer for a bottle opener.

"Um." Kyle wasn't sure what to do in the face of Kenny's silence, but then, the blonde had always had the habit of not saying anything rather than let his words get him into trouble. "I. Um. Yeah."

"You don't have to be grateful y'know." Kenny opened the first bottle and put it down with a little too much force. Foam spilled out of the top.

"Uh, what?"

_Ladies and gentlemen, _announced a sarcastic voice in his mind. _Mr Articulate has left the building!_

"For getting rid of your teacher. Shit, he wouldn't have sacked you anyway."

Chalmers had been the last thing on Kyle's mind and it took him a moment to realise what Kenny was talking about. "Wait, _what_?"

Kenny paused in the act of opening the second bottle. "Well, that's why, uh..."

"_No_."

Kyle frowned, trying to force his mind to work through the clouds of panic. If he backtracked, he could say that yeah, actually, he did feel overcome with gratitude and could they forget it and get drunk like normal people would? And then in the morning they could pretend to themselves it had been alcohol inspired and never mind that the drinking came afterwards.

But Kyle realised that the defensive attitude Kenny had adopted was covering hurt feelings and the insinuation seemed to be that Kyle assumed Kenny would want something in return for the save. And letting _that_ interpretation stand would hurt their friendship worse than anything else could, even if Kenny never mentioned it again.

Anyway, Kyle had never been good at concealing the truth, even when it would be easier, better maybe, to hide behind a lie.

"If I'd wanted to say thanks, I'd have bought you a muffin basket," Kyle snapped, grimacing as he realised he was going on the defensive himself.

Raising an eyebrow, Kenny picked up both beers and walked over, handing one of them to Kyle, who took it, a little confused. Kenny glanced down at his own bottle, then put it on the table, still untouched. "I thought muffin baskets were strictly for apologies."

"You want a muffin basket?"

"No, I don't want a muffin basket."

Kyle sighed, unable to bring his eyes up to look at Kenny. "I just – I wasn't ever gonna _do _anything about it, but... I like you, as more than a friend. Way more. I have done for – I don't know how long. Sorry."

"Sorry," echoed Kenny quietly.

Kyle continued his examination of the floor, sure his face must be as red as his hair – it felt like it. Blurting out the whole truth was worse than he had ever thought it would be, even in his worst imaginings. Saying to Kenny, _hey, I like you_, as in _here, take my heart even though I know you don't want it_. Any moment now, Kenny would give him the whole speech about not feeling the same but hey, let's stay friends okay and nothing has to be weird. Except it would be.

"It's the hood, isn't it?"

Surprised, Kyle looked up and saw that Kenny wasn't looking even remotely awkward, rather the opposite, as if they were talking about the usual crap. His hands were hooked in his jeans pockets and a slight smile played over his mouth, even though he was trying to look serious.

"Um Kenny, you're not wearing the hood." Nope, Kenny had discarded the hoody for a sleeveless T-shirt that, in Kyle's humble opinion, made him look very attractive indeed. And that was_ not_ a good thought to be having when he was so completely confused.

"Right, I'm not. Must be the cologne. Who knew the commercials were telling the truth?"

And suddenly, Kyle got it. Kenny was teasing him, not in the malicious way that meant he was laughing at the revelation, but in the jokey, what-are-you-gonna-do-about-it way. Not trying to let him down gently, but giving out a clear signal that not only did he not mind the crush but, _shit_, he wouldn't mind if Kyle did something about it...

...And the evil bastard _still_ wasn't going to put him out of his misery and make the first move.

Dumping his own beer on the table, Kyle approached Kenny, who suddenly looked a lot less amused and a lot more uncertain. Kyle laid a hand on the curve of Kenny's neck, praying to any passing deity that he hadn't misread the signs.

"It's not the cologne either. It's just – you."

Leaning in, he once more caught Kenny's lips with his own, only this time the internal klaxon-blare of _mistake_ was absent. And this time Kenny was expecting it and there was no hesitation on his part, slanting his head for better access and wrapping his arms around Kyle, pulling him closer.

Kyle traced his tongue along Kenny's lower lip insistently, sliding the hand on Kenny's neck until it was tangled in his hair, keeping him close while he brushed their lips together. With a small noise that might have been a moan, Kenny parted his lips and allowed Kyle access to his mouth proper, increasing the pressure, his fingers finding the edge of Kyle's shirt and sliding beneath it, tracing a path up and down his sides.

Kyle shivered at the contact, pushing himself closer against Kenny, his free hand slipping under Kenny's shirt and spreading out against his chest, finding himself becoming distracted by the feel of the muscles there and beneath them, a heartbeat that was almost as rapid as Kyle's own.

Kenny made as if to pull away but Kyle refused to let go of his hair, finding Kenny's lower lip with his teeth and nipping at it gently. Kenny's eyes, which had been half lidded and heavy, flew open and he gasped. Kyle finally let Kenny break the kiss, hand remaining in place to ensure their faces stayed only a couple of inches apart. Kenny could have broken from the grip with relative ease, but he didn't seem to want to. Instead, he rested his forehead against Kyle's, breathing heavily.

"Kyle... _fuck, _I, uh..."

"Hmmm?" Kyle kissed Kenny's lips again, lightly, then his jaw, his lips finding their way to Kenny's neck.

"Uh, I... there's some... _gah_... that's very distracting y'know..."

"Yeah," Kyle whispered against his neck, nipping the skin softly and smiling at Kenny's moan and the way his arms tightened around him.

"I..." Kenny gave a shuddering breath and rested his head on Kyle's shoulder. "Wait. Stop. If your parents find us making out in the kitchen. They're due home."

"They're staying in Denver," said Kyle, pulling back to look Kenny full in the face.

Kenny blinked, his face flushed. Kyle could sympathise. He felt as if his own face were overheating, that and the rest of his body.

He had just about time to appreciate the wicked grin that came over Kenny's face before their lips crashed together again, bodies pressing together urgently as hands roamed over skin, through hair, learning each others contours, accompanied by deep, hungry kisses that stole the breath from their lungs, moans that were barely more than vibrations in the space made by their joined mouths. Kyle pushed Kenny back against the fridge and used his own body to pin him there, not breaking the kiss, determined that now he had Kenny where he wanted him, he wasn't giving him the chance to get away.


	10. The Desperate And Divided Years

**Authors Note: **Thanks to Kenneth22, Hypothisos, The Brat Prince, Chels and Hayze-Chan (I've no idea why Kenny and Kyle get all the lovin', maybe just cuz they're smokin', lol). Three cheers for the most reviewed chapter to date! And much love to you all!

Le sigh – I think my Style fic is slowly dying. I like the _plot_, but the characters just don't seem right at all. Except Kenny, for some reason. I'm starting to get really worried about it – _I'm losing my fic! Code red! Get me 10cc of inspiration, stat! _And those thoughts lead to images of all the characters running around in nurses outfits trying to revive the damn thing. Or quoting The Dark Knight. Yeah, this is what happens when I go for 24 hours without coffee.

Oh! And I did this meme which was huge amounts of fun and I stuck the results on my profile if you're interested :)

**&*&*&*&*&**

_Tweek lay on his side, elbow resting on the floor and his head in his hand, watching the shadowy outline of his other hand trace lazy circles on Craig's chest. Craig, lay on his back, opened one eye and brought his hand up to stop him. _

"_Tickles," he murmured, voice deep and weary and satisfied. But his hand stayed on Tweek's, holding it to his chest._

_The upstairs rooms were as empty as those downstairs, the windows boarded. A beam of light fell into this room from the haphazardly boarded window, allowing them to see a little in the dark, although the only thing worth looking at was each other._

_Ten weeks, thought Tweek with mild wonder, three days. That long since he walked out of Harbucks and made his move on Craig. Time spent constantly arguing with his father, being harassed by his mother. Being sent to the school counsellor after he'd been alerted to 'issues at home' by his parents. The house where he lived had become a symbol of stress, a place of recriminations and reproachful silences, where he couldn't put the things he needed to say into words that could be understood. Not much of a change, to be honest. He'd had no money until finding a gig loading dishwashers and shelves at a local restaurant, poorly paid but something else to prove he was serious about quitting._

_Ten weeks and three days that he'd been sneaking around with Craig. They kept their tryst a secret, because in high school breaking out of the mould made lives miserable and they were already considered strange enough. Tweek didn't care. It added to the excitement of the whole thing, behaving as if nothing had changed when he knew that everything had. There were days he couldn't stop grinning as people around him bitched about their crappy lives. He had it good and no one suspected a thing. _

_Things were great. Things were terrible. His life had been a see-saw, going from one extreme to the other and for the first time, it didn't bother him. He could live with coasting along and not upsetting the status quo by keeping their relationship a secret, but if Craig had announced right then that he was telling everyone he knew about them, Tweek would be right beside him shouting it out._

_The abandoned house, they had made their own. Candles and batteries were stored in the kitchen, but the only other thing they had brought with them was a king-sized blanket to lie on, Craig's attempt to calm Tweek's concerns about the dirt. For his part, Tweek hadn't actually been too worried about the dirt; when they were together, those things seemed trivial._

_Tweek leant forward, kissing Craig's lips lightly and pulling back a little. Craig opened his other eye and smiled lazily. "Damn, more? You're gonna do me to death Tweekers."_

_In spite of his protests, he put an arm on the other boys back and pulled him down, caressing his back while seeking out his lips. Tweek closed his eyes, naked limbs entwined with Craig's, inhaling Craig's aroma of Lynx, cigarettes, sex and smoke. _

_Smoke. _

_Not cigarette smoke and not something he'd noticed before._

_He pulled his head away from Craig's quickly, looking around the room as if expecting to find the source of the smell. Craig looked mildly bemused. "What's wrong?"_

"_I smell – gnk – smoke."_

"_It's probably ciga..." Craig trailed off, frowning as he smelled it too. "Shit. Did we leave a candle burning?"_

"_GAH!" Tweek sat up hurriedly, staring wildly at the door. He really couldn't remember. They had _lit_ a candle, he knew that much, when they were down the stairs and hadn't been planning anything other than conversation. But one thing had led to another and they started kissing and since they had decided they were less likely to be caught upstairs some time ago, they had made their way up there without giving it much thought. The theory was that they were less likely to be heard and if someone_ did _enter the house, it gave them time to get dressed and act natural. The flaw in the theory was that once they got going, the Denver Broncos could walk in, start taking pictures and shouting encouragement and neither of them would notice._

"_It'll be fine Tweek," said Craig, sitting up and reaching for his jeans. "It's probably someone down the street having a barbecue or something."_

_Tweek grabbed his combats and pulled them on, almost tripping himself up in his haste. Craig grinned at the sight, walking over to the door and pulling it open, clearly expecting nothing. _

_A cloud of black smoke rolled into the room, accompanied by an acrid heat. Craig slammed the door shut and leaned his back against it, as if that would somehow keep a fire from entering the room. "Uh... Tweek, I don't wanna panic you, but..."_

"_FIRE!" Tweek screamed, shaking madly. "We're gonna die, we're gonna burn to death and they'll have to scoop our ashes out of the ruins and oh shit oh shit..."_

_Craig ran to the boarded up window and tried to pull aside the boards. Nothing. They might have been attached skewed, but they were nailed on tight. There was nothing for it. They would have to leave the room and go into the house – where the fire was._

"_...and keep me in a bag of Columbian Roast and then my dad'll forget and drink me and then I'll be trapped in his body and have to listen to the metaphors forever and..."_

"_TWEEK!"_

_Tweek cut himself off, turning to look at Craig through wide, fear crazed eyes. _

"_Tweek, we gotta find a way out of here. Come on."_

"_Through there?" Tweek's shaking intensified. "We can't go out there! It's on fire!"_

"_We can't stay in here either!" Craig grabbed Tweek's hand, lacing their fingers together. "Tweek, we have to get out of here! Let's go!"_

_Tweek nodded, letting himself be pulled toward the door before remembering something and stopping. "Wait!"_

"_What?"_

"_We can – ack – we can use our shirts to cover our mouths and then we won't choke to death, I don't wanna choke to death GAH!"_

_Craig gave him a impressed look that bolstered Tweek's courage no end. "That's good thinking Tweek," he said, hurrying back to their hastily discarded clothes and throwing the first item he came to – his own shirt – at Tweek, before grabbing Tweek's shirt and holding it over his face, tying it around the back as a makeshift mask to keep his hands free._

"_Okay," he said, grabbing Tweek's hand again. "Let's get out of here."_

_He pulled the door open again and a rush of warm air hit them in the face, the temperature seeming to have risen in the short time they had been deciding what to do. Craig guided Tweek into the hall, looking over the stairs and trying to see something, anything. It was dark thanks to the lack of windows and the smoke was covering everything, so that he could barely see anything but impenetrable blackness. There was still no sign of the fire itself._

"_Be careful," he said, using the wall to feel his way to the stairs. "Dark as hell here. Don't fall."_

_Tweek whimpered softly, feeling Craig's hand squeeze his. It was so dark he couldn't see Craig any more, couldn't see where their hands joined, couldn't see where he was going. His eyes stung from the smoke and tears rolled down his cheeks. Every breath was difficult, the heat searing his lungs and the smoke forcing him to take shallow, rapid breaths that only increased his rapid heart rate._

"_Stairs are here," said Craig, taking a breath and coughing. He got it under control quickly, leading Tweek into the darkness and smoke. Tweek felt his way along the wall, caution with every step down, refusing to let go of Craig's hand. His mind was filled with images of their fiery demise, the stairs collapsing and dropping them into a pit of flames like a demon casting them into hell, the house crumbling and burying them alive, finding a wall of fire that they couldn't pass and being set alight, running and screaming as the flames ate their flesh..._

"_Last one," said Craig suddenly and Tweek found himself alive, at the foot of the stairs, Craig's hand still in his. "It's okay Tweek. We're gonna get out of here."  
_

_Tweek realised suddenly that he could _see_ Craig, for several seconds too happy at the fact to realise the wider implications. Craig was dirty, his face and torso covered in soot and sweat. His hair stuck out at wild angles and the strain of the situation was clearly visible on his face._

_He caught Tweek's eye and gave him an encouraging smile. Tweek could have kissed him._

_Instead, he belatedly wondered about the light source and turned to the living room, where they had left their lights. The door was partially closed, but through it, he could see flames dancing up the walls of the room, devouring everything in their path. He clamped his fingers around Craig's, hard._

"_Tweek, you're gonna have to let go for a moment," said Craig, in a calm voice that was a million years away from the look on his face. "I gotta force this door and I can't do it with one hand."  
_

_The door was right at the foot of the stairs, directly in their path. Tweek tried to take a deep breath, but it turned into a hacking cough. They were running out of time. _

_He let go._

_Squaring his shoulders, Craig took a run at the door, slamming into it hard and rebounding, falling on his ass. With a moan of pain, he rubbed his injury. "They make it look so easy on TV."_

"_Craig!"_

"_Stay there, I think I got it this time." Craig got up and kicked at the door a few times, his bare feet making no difference at all. The door held. Tweek could see the outside view in his minds eye, the sturdy barricade blocking their exit, spray painted with graffiti._

_Craig stopped, panting in pained gasps, resting his hands on his knees and letting his hair hang in his face. Tweek spasmed. "Shit! Shit, we're fucked!"_

"_Not yet," growled Craig, straightening up, his face a mask of determination. "We have to go out the way we got in."_

_Tweek let the implication sink in and began shaking his head violently. To get to their entrance they would have to go through the living room – and pass through the fire. "We can't!"_

"_We have to!" Craig grabbed Tweek by the upper arms and stilled him. "We have to, or we'll die in here."_

_Tweek stared into Craig's eyes and reminded himself that if he panicked now, if he refused to move, then he really _would_ die. And so would Craig. Biting his lip, tears still pouring from his burning eyes, he nodded. _

_Craig kissed him lightly on the forehead. "Okay. Let's do this. Keep a hold on my hand. We're gonna be alright Tweek."_

_Tweek took Craig's hand, the other hand holding the shirt to his face. It was making breathing difficult, but at least the air reaching him was less smoky and painful. Craig shoved open the door leading to the living room and yanked Tweek forward._

_Then they were in the living room and Tweek wondered if they'd taken a wrong turn and strayed into Hell instead._

_Fire danced up the walls, sucking the air from the room. The heat was immense, forcing sweat from their bodies and trying to force them into retreat. The smoke was everywhere, in their lungs, their eyes, coating their bodies. And it was out of control._

_Through his blurred eyes, Tweek could see the door to the kitchen, fire reaching one side of it but not yet blocking their escape. Craig saw it at the same moment, starting over toward the gap and taking Tweek with him. Tweek cringed away from the wall where most of the fire was centred, trying to keep hold of Craig in spite of their sweat-slicked hands. He could see the tantalising view of the kitchen, of the boarded up window, of freedom... and then they were through the door and away from the main body of the fire._

_Craig yanked at the boards covering their escape, starting to cough and unable to stop, hacking as he shoved hard at the board, not worried this time about making a noise or attracting attention. Tweek stood in the centre of the kitchen, staring back at the living room as if he expected the fire to take human form and chase after them. The entire house was coated in soot, smoke swirling around the room. It was like some terrible nightmare and everyone knew that in nightmares, the escape routes were all cut off..._

_There was a crash as the board fell off the window, the rapidly fading mid-afternoon light not changing the quality of the red-tinted illumination in the room. Craig grabbed his wrist and pulled him forward._

"_Go on, get out of here!"_

"_But..."_

"_I'm right behind you, GO!"_

_Tweek boosted himself through the window, almost falling out of the other side. He landed on his feet, twisting his ankle painfully and stumbling onto one knee, taking a deep breath of sweet fresh air and letting it out in a cough that shook his body. Anxiously, he tried to get to his feet, suddenly coldly certain that Craig had been trapped, that only one of them was getting out._

_And then Craig dived through the window too, crashing into Tweek as he did so. They both fell, Tweek landing on his butt and Craig on his side, taking a few moments to lie and get their breath back._

_The air was cold and the snow seeped straight through the few clothes Tweek wore, chilling him – but after the intense heat from within, it felt wonderful. He tried to take some deep breaths, most of the exhalations coming out in a series of racking coughs that hurt his chest. Fighting to get them under control, he ran a shaking hand through his hair and looked down at his grimy, semi-clad form. His parents were going to _freak_. _

_Wiping his mouth free of the spittle that had come with the force of the coughs, he looked over at Craig. Craig was pushing himself into a sitting position, still coughing. His face was red and Tweek's shirt hung around his neck, come loose from around his face. He was streaked in dirt and soot, face red, eyes bloodshot. He rubbed his face with the back of his hand, smearing the dirt around still more._

_Tweek was pretty sure he'd never seen a more wonderful sight in his life. Craig was alive. _He_ was alive. _

_Craig managed a shaky grin that was a strange mixture of cautious relief and belated terror. "Whoa, I never knew you were _that_ hot."_

_It was a shitty pun, but Tweek didn't care. He started to snigger, then to laugh hysterically. It was either that or start crying for real. They were lying in the snow half-naked and filthy, the house was burning merrily away behind them – but they were both alive and Tweek wasn't sure if he was laughing because his terror needed some kind of outlet, or if it was pure joy that they had got through the whole thing and it was done with and over._

_Except that it wasn't done with, it was a long way from done with, and by the time it was, only one thing would be over._

_Craig sat up, reaching out and taking Tweek's hand. "Come on, stop laughing. We gotta-"_

_A shadow fell over him and suddenly, Craig's hand was ripped from his. Tweek's laughter dried up for good as a man in a police uniform grabbed Craig by the arm and lifted him almost to his feet before throwing him face-down onto the snow. There was a click that Tweek recognised, even though he had never heard the noise before; the sound of the safety switch of a gun being released._

_A moment later, Tweek found himself being similarly manhandled, crashing onto his stomach and lying still. From the corner of his eye, he could see a cop yanking Craig's arms behind his back, cuffing them and dragging him to his feet._

"_What the fuck's going on?" snapped the cop holding Craig._

_Tweek felt someone kneel on the small of his back, grinding painfully. His own arms were pulled and for a moment, he thought they would just pop out of their sockets, feeling steel encircle his wrists with a snap that sounded horribly final. _

"_It's pretty obvious," growled a voice at Tweek's ear, seconds before he too was lifted to his feet. The cop didn't bother to be careful and he yelped in pain as fingers dug cruelly into his arms. "Pyros. Get their kicks setting fire to things. Got off on it, looking at the state of them."_

_Tweek started to shake uncontrollably, catching Craig's eye and silently begging for him to do something, to get them out of this somehow. But then the fire engines pulled up and people gathered around the blaze, the noise and confusion overwhelming. Tweek faintly heard someone reading him his rights, but he couldn't make sense of the words, lost in an ecstasy of sheer terror. _

_He was marched through the crowd, who turned and stared. Tweek thought he saw a glimpse of Eric Cartman in the watchers and his anxiety increased. That was just _perfect_, now the stories going around about the fire would be wildly exaggerated and his school life would be a living hell. _

_Actually, right now, his life already seemed like a living hell._

_Ahead of him, he saw Craig being shoved into a cop car, obviously having decided to go the silent route since he wasn't shouting and cursing. Tweek decided this was a good plan. He wasn't going to say anything to anyone until he got to see Craig and find out what the hell had gone on..._

**~:~**

Tweek came to consciousness slowly. With his eyes closed, he was aware of the pillow beneath his head and duvet pulled around his chest and was confused for a moment – he'd been dreaming about the day he and Craig had escaped the fire and half-expected to find himself on the narrow cot in the cell he'd spent twenty hellish hours in, only it was far too comfortable for that. No, a long time had gone past since then.

He also became aware that he was alone in the bed, which didn't seem right either. Elliot always woke him up before he got up himself, no matter what. He was never in bed alone. Frowning, not wanting to open his eyes, he cast his mind back to what he'd been doing before he went to bed.

_The shop, the guns, Craig..._

He opened his eyes wide, staring up at the ceiling. Definitely not his apartment. There was no sign of the tasteful eggshell blue paint, just functional white that had been slightly tinged with nicotine.

_The bike, the motel, prophecies, killers..._

He sat up, expecting to find himself handcuffed to the headboard and face to face with a kidnapper. But there was no one else around, the room was empty of anyone but himself. Fighting a strange lingering tiredness, he scrubbed at his eyes and tried to think; what was the last thing he remembered?

He could remember arriving at the motel with Craig, meeting with Kenny McCormick and those other two guys, Gregory and Christophe. He could remember being told some weird tale about Peruvian wall carvings, only it hadn't been right because it was _Craig_ who had been on those, years ago, not him.

After that, there was nothing.

_Someone got us,_ thought Tweek with rising panic. _They were after me and they got all of us and now they're going to sacrifice me to some infernal God and the other guys could already be dead and _Craig_ could be dead and oh shit I have to get out of here..._

But the whole house could be filled with kidnappers, who were even now dusting off their ceremonial robes and sharpening their daggers. If he could sneak out, that was good, but just in case he ran into someone, he needed a weapon.

He got out of the bed and looked around, grateful to note that he was still dressed in his own clothes and appeared to be unmolested. That didn't entirely quash the theory that he had been slipped some roofies and the whole incident at the coffee shop and what happened afterwards was a drug induced dream, but it went a long way to disproving it.

There was nothing immediately obvious that he could use as a weapon. The bed he had got out of was a double, the sheets clean – maybe he could tear them into strips and use them to climb out of the window? But what if they broke and he fell out and broke his neck? There was a desk against one wall, a laptop and printer lying on it, switched off. Beside them were two expensive looking digital cameras and Tweek reached out and grabbed one, flicking on the power, wanting some clue as to who might have taken him, and presumably the four men whom he had been with.

Scanning the memory, he blinked in surprise. There was a few pictures of Kenny and Christophe, the blonde grinning, the Frenchman scowling. Another one of a girl with long, dark hair sitting on the edge of the bed he had just emerged from, a sulky come-hither look on her face. The last one he looked at showed Kenny and Christophe again, Craig beside them. All three seemed slightly drunk, Christophe's eyes half-lidded and Kenny making bunny ears behind his head, grinning wildly. But it was Craig with whom Tweek was concerned with. He seemed happy, the smile that he got when something really amused him plastered on his face. His arm was stretched to somewhere out of shot and Tweek recognised the pose; Craig was holding the camera taking the picture.

_This is Craig's room_, he thought, putting down the camera and forgetting that he had been hoping for a weapon. But if he was in Craig's room, then what had happened? Had he passed out?

And why was Craig living in the same town as him?

Dread settled in the pit of his stomach as he made his way toward the window. The curtains were drawn against the sunlight and in one quick, jerky movement, Tweek pulled them apart. He had never seen the view from this window, but he knew it as soon as he saw it. He had grown up in this town.

Somewhere between passing out and waking up, he had been brought back to South Park.

The roofies were suddenly seeming a lot more likely, only he hadn't drank anything in Craig's presence. And why the hell would Craig suddenly crash back into his life only to drug him?

Tweek sat on the end of the bed, burying his head in his hands. None of this made any _sense_. Craig being back – he'd been struggling to forget him, to persuade himself that he had to move on, yet here he was. And saving his life. Again. He had no reason to trust anything Craig said, he hadn't seen him in years and yet, he had immediately run off with him. Admittedly, there had been extenuating circumstances, but he really didn't need much persuading. He probably wouldn't have needed much persuading if they'd merely run into each other in the middle of the street. He'd taken one look at Craig and suddenly lost his will to think, to do anything but follow him.

And now, he was back in South Park and _shit_, he'd probably get fired for not showing up at work and there was no way Elliot would believe he had no real choice but to go with Craig; he'd be jobless _and_ homeless. And that was if he even got back to his normal life. To get that far, he had to get out of this room and who knew what lay on the other side of the door?

_It's a trick_, he thought suddenly. _Craig hates me, because I left town and I never phoned to find out how he was dealing with everything, he probably had to go back to school and have Cartman calling him a pyro fag and I never went back at all. He's getting some kind of revenge by fucking up my life, the same way I fucked up his..._

That thought upset him more than anything else. Would Craig really go to all that trouble just to get back at him? It was bad enough that he probably thought him an asshole.

There was only one way to find out and sitting on the end of the bed and catastrophising wasn't it.

Trembling, wishing he had a coffee – hell, anything with caffeine in it would do – he took several deep breaths and opened the door.

**~:~**

Craig could have cursed his 'friends'.

Kenny had gone over to the Broflovski house, ostensibly to ask some questions about the whole prophecy thing, but had yet to return. Christophe was watching some dull crap on the TV and Craig didn't feel like company, so _that_ escape wasn't an option. And he couldn't hide in his room because – well, because the reason he needed to take his mind off things was currently _in_ his room, crashed out on the bed.

Life was never simple, but recently things had got too complicated for words.

Instead he sat at the kitchen table, an unread magazine spread out in front of him, his second bottle of beer close to hand and a cigarette burning between his fingers. He wondered if he should leave the house for a while, go for a walk, but it was too easy to imagine Tweek waking up and finding him gone – and Christophe's reaction to one of his panic attacks.

_I'm hanging around in case my ex-boyfriend, the one I haven't seen since I was seventeen, needs me. Pathetic._

He let his mind wander to the scene upstairs, Tweek curled up on his fortunately almost-clean sheets, only his wild blonde hair sticking out from beneath the quilt. He'd imagined it a hundred times, barely a day went past when he didn't open the door to the room and envision the familiar form lying there, but the reality had left him disoriented and that pissed him off. It was too easy to imagine himself going up there, maybe under the pretence of bringing up a drink, sitting on the end of the bed and maybe asking a few questions. Like why the _fuck _he never bothered getting in touch, why in the three months Craig had been sitting in juvenile hall he'd never gotten the lousy letter he had been waiting for. Why he got out and found Tweek was long gone, blown town never to return. Until now.

But no, he refused to let himself be drawn into that conversation. For Tweek, it was all in the past, water under the bridge. He'd left town because his parents left town and he was part of the baggage they had taken – and Craig was under no illusions; he knew that _he _was the reason the family had left in such a hurry. Tweek had moved on, settling into a new home, finishing school, finding a job, an apartment... and a new boyfriend. One without a criminal record and an anti-authoritarian streak, one who would keep him safe instead of dragging him into trouble.

Someone who was _better _than Craig.

Scowling, he mashed out the cigarette, lit another and tried to turn his attention back to the magazine. It didn't work. His mind was turning over the _other_ possibility of what might happen if he went up the stairs, the one where he didn't even bother to ask questions. The one where he grabbed the other man and kissed him, feeling thin arms snake around his neck in a way that no longer had to be just a memory...

That thought was even more dangerous than dragging up ancient history. More than likely, if he tried anything like that, Tweek would bolt and he didn't think he could deal with the rejection yet again. Better – safer – to take his mind _far_ away from those kind of thoughts.

He was too busy listening for Tweek and as soon as he heard the creak of the floorboards above and the footsteps on the stairs, his entire body tensed and he strived to look casual.

He heard the living room door open, the muffled shriek and Christophe growling something incomprehensible. A moment later, the kitchen door opened and Tweek cautiously put his head into the room. His hair looked like he'd been yanking at it again and his left eye was twitching sporadically, a sure sign that he was feeling more stressed than usual but was trying not to show it.

Craig looked back at him, trying to force a smile or some casual greeting, but finding himself unable to. The part of him that wanted to yell at Tweek immediately went back to war with the part that wanted to molest him; neither seeming happy with the peace treaty the job entailed. It had been easier before, when the situation had been urgent. Now, he couldn't think of a single appropriate thing to say.

"Uh, I need c-coffee," said Tweek nervously, breaking the silence.

"Knock yourself out." Craig indicated to the kettle and returned to his magazine, turning a page and trying to look absorbed.

Tweek crossed the room, busying himself with the drink and Craig didn't have to be able to see him to know that Tweek was also determinedly not paying attention to the other man. Struggling with the urge to flip off his indifferent back, Craig reached out and drained the rest of his beer, putting it back on the table just a little too hard and dropping his cigarette butt into the empty bottle.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Tweek walk to the fridge and open it, although he had to imagine the expression when he realised it was filled with beer, soda, half-empty tins with the forks still in them and a pound of plastic explosive that had to be kept cool. Hopefully, he wouldn't realise what the last one was. There was a carton of milk, but when Tweek picked it up and shook it, the contents sounded suspiciously solid.

"Pass me another beer while you're there," he said gruffly, more for something to say than a desire for another drink. He couldn't afford to get wasted but damn, this was uncomfortable as hell.

Tweek silently passed him the bottle and went back over to the kettle, having evidently decided to have the coffee black. Craig let his eyes follow him, the familiar movements the other man made making him smile a little. The exact same rituals as always; it was almost as if Tweek had never left, had stayed in South Park and the pair of them had made some kind of life that included each other.

Tweek turned, the coffee steaming in one hand, his eyes meeting Craig's for the first time since he had entered the kitchen. "What happened?"

"Huh?"

"I – _ack – _I was at the motel and now I'm back in _gnk_ South Park and I don't know how I got here!"

"Oh." Craig tried to think of a lie and couldn't. "Gregory shot you. With a tranquilliser dart. And then we brought you back with us."

"GAH!" Tweek jerked, coffee spilling over the top of the cup. "I knew it, you're all part of some crazed secret society and you're going to sacrifice me!"

"No one's going to sacrifice you!" Craig stood up and took Tweek by the upper arms, guiding him to a chair and making him sit down. "Gregory just has a, um, direct way of dealing with things. You were spazzing out."

"Do you blame me _ack_!"

Craig began to wish he hadn't chased Kenny out of the house; the blonde seemed to have a way with people and right now, Craig didn't think he was the best candidate for keeping Tweek calm. But he was the only person available, except for Christophe and there was no way _that_ would end well. He'd probably terrify Tweek into a heart attack.

"Look Tweek, we've been hired to protect you..." He trailed off, since this wasn't strictly true, but somewhere along the line, the rules had changed. It was an unspoken agreement between all of them that no harm was going to come to Tweek as long as they could help it. "We had to bring you back here, there was nowhere else safe enough. And no one would think we'd bring you here _now_, they'll be looking miles away."

"Who hired you? Who'd want to keep me safe?"

Craig gave him a disbelieving look, letting a trace of bitterness enter his voice. "Well, your boyfriend would, hopefully."

Tweek shrugged, not meeting Craig's eyes. "No, he wouldn't believe in anything like this. He still thinks the _ah, _the guinea pigs were mass hysteria."

"I felt pretty fucking hysterical," muttered Craig, wondering how Elliot fucking Bolton coped with Tweek's more creative twitches. It took a special kind of pragmatism to disbelieve in the irrational even when it was knocking down the town and he didn't think there'd be any place in his philosophy for underpants gnomes.

"So, who hired you?" Tweek looked at him over the rim of his coffee cup.

"Kyle Broflovski."

"_Kyle_?" Tweek frowned. "Why?"

"He figured out it was you on the carvings," replied Craig, looking at his watch. Kenny had been gone a _very_ long time and he really needed him back to explain things to Tweek. Dammit, the guy could cope with bombs, guns, angry natives and Christophe in one of his moods, but swing a shovel at him and he was running scared. Pussy.

"Shit Kenny, what's taking so long?" he muttered under his breath.

Tweek heard him and spasmed violently. "You and Kenny are GAH, uh..."

Craig looked at him and blinked uncomprehendingly. "What?"

"GAH! You're uh, _ack_, living together and..."

Realisation dawned. "Hell no!"

"No?"

"No! We're like, housemates. Shit, Christophe lives here too, that doesn't mean we're all part of some giant gay – sandwich!"

"_Gnk_, you're not?"

"Sadly, _non_," said Christophe from the door, wandering into the kitchen and liberating several cans of soda from the fridge, ignoring the scream from Tweek as he interrupted the conversation. "Otherwise, zese two beetches would be already in my room, wrestling in ice-cream for my amusement."

Craig crashed his head against the table. "Mole! Sick!"

Tweek stared at Christophe in horror. "Do you know _gah_ what ice cream does to your dick?"

Christophe chuckled. "I like 'im. You can 'ave the TV."

Craig refused to take his head from the table until he was sure Christophe had gone. There was no two ways about it; at some point in the near future, he would have to get that therapy he'd been threatening.


	11. Ze French Know Feet

**Author Note: **As always, my heartfelt thanks go out to the reviewers; Chels, Hypothisos, Dragon of Darkness8705, HotIceRed (ice cream causes male shrinkage!), Hayze-Chan (I'm really glad you like the story _that_ much!), The Brat Prince (I'm kinda obsessed with writing muh boys shirtless... for some reason, heh!) and Alpha Hydra (I'm glad you gave it a chance!). You guys all rock!

The two things I notice popping up in reviews a lot are; Christophe-love and that people dislike reading unfinished chapter fics. I _adore_ writing Ze Mole because his lines just arrive on the page without my brain intervening – I swear, he turns up behind me, steals my cigarettes and yells, "Write faster beetch!" in my ear. And he refuses to do what I want him to do in a story. As far as unfinished stories go, I've been guilty of that myself on occasion and I know how much it frustrates me when something I'm enjoying just peters out. But there's no chance of that with AEBH, it will be completed! That's a Hot Monkey Brain promise!

Hope you enjoy the new chapter!

**&*&*&*&*&**

Half past three in the morning.

Craig was tired, but there was no way he was going to get any sleep, at least until Kenny hauled his ass home. Christophe had retired to his room and after the ice-cream comment, Craig wasn't sure he trusted him not to sent Tweek into a gibbering wreck. That was probably his plan. Asshole.

Tweek was on the other couch, legs curled under him, staring at the TV, yet another cup of coffee in his hand. It was all very well for _him_, thought Craig sourly. He'd been unconscious for half the day and he never slept very much anyway, thanks to all that caffeine. There was no way he could leave Tweek to his own devices while he got a couple of hours rest, that was just asking for trouble.

Tweek had been quiet, too quiet really. He should be spazzing out about the prophecy, but he seemed to be deliberately not thinking about it. There had been a brief resurgence of the panic attacks when Tweek realised he couldn't find his phone and let his boyfriend know that he was still alive, but Craig reassured him that Gregory would bring him an untraceable cell in the morning. Elliot fucking Bolton didn't know how lucky he was.

A Jerry Springer re-run played on the TV. Craig was mildly surprised at the choice – he'd let Tweek have the remote, against his better judgement – but figured if there was anything more surreal than what went on in South Park, it was some of the shit on that show. Currently, two naked chicks in veils were wrestling in the remains of a wedding cake, the audience cheering them on.

"Did you _ack_!" said Tweek suddenly.

Craig glanced at him. "Say that again?"

"Get much shit. GAH! In school _gnk_!"

Tweek had started twitching rapidly again, the subject obviously not a comfortable one. Craig stared at him. He had to _know_, right...?

"I didn't go back to school."

"You didn't?"

"I went to juvenile hall."

Tweek met his eyes, his mouth hanging open. "You..._ ACK!_"

"Oh hell." Craig stood and went over to Tweek, snagging the coffee cup before the entire contents went across the floor. "Don't spazz out on me now Tweek. You've been doing okay."

"Juh-juvie? _Gnk!_ Why? I didn't go to juvie!"

"I noticed," said Craig wryly. "I guess your parents sorted it all out. Mine didn't."

"I'm sorry," whispered Tweek. "I didn't know and _ack_, my parents wouldn't let me talk to anyone and then we moved and I just... _gnk_!"

"It's ancient history," muttered Craig uncomfortably. If there was one thing he didn't like to think about, it was those months he had been sat in kid prison waiting for some sign that Tweek hadn't forgotten about him. The letters he got from Token and Clyde hadn't mentioned anything and he could have cheerfully strangled them for it. His parents had visited, but intimated that his return home wouldn't be a very good idea; they had his influence over his little sister to consider after all. He'd been left with nothing and all his memories of that time were tinged with the recollection of being cast adrift, with no one to help him.

"I thought you were avoiding me," said Tweek miserably. "I thought you hated me for _ack_ everything that happened..."

Craig didn't like the direction the conversation was taking. He didn't want to be thinking about the fucked-up past and it certainly wasn't good to be rehashing what had gone wrong between them, not when Tweek was living with another guy.

But he couldn't let Tweek think he was to blame.

"It wasn't your fault. It wasn't _my_ fault. I'm not angry. Wait, no, I _am _angry."

"GAH!"

Craig ran a hand through his hair, giving Tweek a weary look. "I mean, I _was_, but I'm not anymore. Well – maybe a little. And not at _you_. What happened happened and it's not like we could have done anything to change it."

Tweek was still shaking, but they had subsided somewhat at Craig's reassurances, his hazel eyes anxiously scanning Craig's face for any sign of a lie and apparently not finding any. Craig looked away. As long as Tweek was staring at him like that, he couldn't think straight. A traitorous part of his mind was telling him that there was something he could do that _would_ reassure Tweek how mad he wasn't, and under the circumstances, it would be the exact wrong move to make. So he felt relieved when he heard the tread on the stair. A distraction was just what he needed.

Christophe walked in, glancing at the scene with vague interest. He had obviously just woken up, having located his pants and gun but not his shirt. "Am I disturbing anything?"

"Get bent Christophe," muttered Craig.

Tweek shrank slightly from the newcomer, but if Christophe noticed, he didn't comment, instead finding his cigarettes and taking one from the packet. "Kenny 'as not come back yet zen?"

"Nope."

"Maybe 'e 'as finally got into Kyle's pants."

Craig gave a snort of laughter. "No way. Kenny'll be pretending he hasn't got that thing for Kyle until the day he dies..." He paused to consider this. "Well, you know what I mean."

"_Oui._" Christophe lit the cigarette and took a drag, sending out a cloud of smoke. "I shall take over from 'ere, since Kenny is not back. Go get some sleep, you look like sheet."

Craig glanced at Tweek, who looked vaguely terrified at the prospect of spending time alone with the Frenchman. "Uh, I thought _you_ were grabbing some sleep."

"It is 'ard to sleep with all ze screaming," replied Christophe, making Tweek look even more nervous. He gestured to the TV, where a new episode of Springer was beginning. "Besides, I love zis episode. It is ze one where ze man ditches 'is girlfriend and marries 'is own right 'and."

Craig gave him a look of amazement. "_You_ watch Springer?"

Christophe dropped onto the couch beside Tweek. "It reminds me zat some people out zere are even weirder zen ze ones I live with."

**~:~**

Craig had expected fearful silence, possibly a full-blown panic attack. He'd expected to awaken to find Christophe had grown tired of babysitting Tweek and hog-tied him. He'd been prepared for all kinds of terrible possibilities when he walked into the living room.

He didn't expect laughter.

Tweek's typical sniggers were punctuated by Christophe's baritone laugh, the one they seldom heard since he rarely loosened up enough to find anything quite so funny. Wondering if the pair had been replaced by pod people during the night, Craig pushed open the living room door and blinked in surprise.

Both Christophe and Tweek had cups in their hands, sat on the couch with the TV on, but unwatched. Springer had given way to a particularly stupid cartoon that Craig knew Christophe hated, but he hadn't changed the channel yet and wasn't even complaining about it. Instead, he was grinning. Looking up and seeing Craig at the door, his grin only intensified. Tweek had his back to the door and was too caught up in his speech to notice Craig enter.

"...So no one knew what Cartman wanted him to do, but he was really pissed off _all morning_ and he had to do it, since he lost the bet..."

_Amazing_ thought Craig in disbelief. Tweek was twitching slightly, but no more than he always used to when there was nothing much troubling him. Against all odds, Christophe and Tweek had bonded.

That was... actually, that was bad.

"...Then lunchtime came and we were all sitting in the cafeteria and Cartman was trying to act all innocent..."

Craig suddenly realised where this was going. "Tweek! No!"

Tweek yelped and looked around, almost dropping his cup. His twitching intensified and he clamped his mouth shut as if to force the words to remain inside.

Christophe raised his eyebrows. "Hush Craig, I want to 'ear zis."

"No, you don't."

"I do. What 'appened next?"

Tweek looked from Craig to Christophe and his mouth twitched, as if he was trying to hide a smile. "It got to about _gnk _half way through lunch and suddenly Craig appeared at the door..."

"I mean it Tweek!"

"_Ack_ and he was wearing that blue hat he practically lived in back then, _gnk_, and his socks and _nothing else_..."

"I put you in hospital for less than this!"

"You _gnk_ said you were paid to protect me," said Tweek, a perfectly familiar teasing glint in his eye. Craig sighed. Tweek knew damn well that Craig wouldn't be able to stop him telling the tale. Once upon a time, Craig would have just leapt on Tweek and shut him up by hitting him with a cushion or tickling him or something – but there was a strictly hands-off policy now, wasn't there?

"He streaked across the cafeteria," continued Tweek. All the _ack_ girls were screaming and all the guys _gnk_ were laughing and the teachers were yelling and he's dancing around the tables..."

"I'm a mercenary! I'll have my revenge!"

"...And then he put his foot in a blob of jelly, lost his footing and skidded on his ass _gah_ right in front of the principal!"

"Would you _please _fear my revenge?"

Christophe was laughing heartily at the tale, smirking at Craig. "I knew zat Tweek would 'ave many stories I could use for blackmail."

"You bastard!"

"If only zere were photos."

Tweek opened his mouth, a devious expression on his face. Craig threw caution to the wind and dived onto the couch, half-landing on Tweek and covering his mouth with his hand. "Not another word Tweek!"

The man started shaking harder and inwardly Craig cursed both Tweek and himself. Tweek for somehow adjusting to the weirdness of the situation and himself for forgetting his hands-off policy. Hell, he had his head on Tweek's chest and his hand on his face, certainly _not _the behaviour he should be employing. Hurriedly, Craig stood up and looked pointedly away from Tweek. Shit. This was awkward and just as things were looking a little less complicated.

Fortunately, a distraction came in the form of the front door crashing open and Kenny's voice, singing loudly and in perfect key. The three looked to the living room door as Kenny burst in, throwing his arms out theatrically. "I'm not wearing underwear to-daaaaaaay!"

"Did the gnomes get you too?" asked Tweek, keeping his face perfectly dead-pan. Kenny gave him a startled look and Craig chuckled. He'd always loved Tweek's subtle digs at his own neurosis. And it was _so_ not a good time to be thinking of the things he liked about Tweek.

Kenny pulled off his hoodie. "Gregory here yet?"

"_Non_." Christophe stared at Kenny. "I thought you were at Kyle's 'ouse."

"_Wee_," replied Kenny in a horribly mangled French accent.

"Zen 'e is responsible for ze hickey?"

"_What_?" Kenny's hand flew up to his neck. "Uh..."

Craig gaped. "No way! You finally got _Kyle_?"

"I don't know _what_ you're talking about," said Kenny, aiming for innocent. "It's a shaving rash."

"A shaving rash zat 'as _teeth_?"

Kenny fought a losing battle against a wide grin. "Um, a new kind of razor?"

"If that's a new kind of razor," said Craig with a smirk. "Then it _sucks_!"

Craig and Christophe broke into laughter, while Kenny rolled his eyes and gave them a babies-must-play look. "Can we focus on the mission?"

Craig glanced at Christophe. "Hmm, do we focus on the mission or rip the shit outta Kenny?"

"I never thought I'd say zis, but screw ze mission," said Christophe. "Some things 'ave to be done."

Sadly for their plans, Gregory chose that moment to enter the house, walking into the living room and regarding the group. "Good morning."

"Gregory!" yelled Kenny, glad of the distraction. "Good morning! How's things? Wow, I'm really anxious to get our new mission directives, aren't you guys?"

If Gregory was confused by all this, he hid it well. "Alright then. Maybe you should start off by filling us all in on what happened last night."

"Aw man," whined Kenny. "Why is my love life the hot topic of conversation around here?"

"I actually meant your conversation with Kyle about who might have discovered Tweek's whereabouts," said Gregory, with a pointed look at Kenny's neck. "Not what happened afterwards."

"Oh," said Kenny, while Christophe and Craig sniggered.

Gregory glanced over at Tweek, who was chuckling quietly on the couch. "Tweek, I'm sure no one minds you using the shower."

Tweek jerked, then stood up, knowing he was being dismissed from the conversation. His face darkened. It was his life they were discussing; why the hell wasn't he allowed to join in? But no one was taking much notice of him, even Craig wasn't looking in his direction, so he stalked out of the room without bothering to argue. Did it matter what they decided for him, as long as he was safe?

_Yes it does,_he thought angrily. Damn, but he was getting sick of not having a say in his own life choices. Sometimes it seemed like things just weren't worth arguing about, but that was how he'd ended up in a dull job, with a boyfriend he wasn't sure he wanted to be with. That was how he'd ended up being hurried from South Park with no idea that Craig was incarcerated – he would _never _have left if he'd known, but he'd assumed that Craig hated him and there was no reason for him to stay anymore. He'd spent the last few years just drifting along and it was all because he didn't stand up for himself.

Turning, he stalked back into the room again, slamming the door open hard. "Dammit _ack_ I deserve to know what _gnnn_ is going on and I'm not going to have a shower, I'm gonna stay here and GAH!"

Yeah, he'd forgotten in his anger; one of the main reasons he didn't open his mouth to argue about things was because his speech patterns undermined him from the start.

Craig looked over at Gregory. "He's got a point."

"_Oui_," said Christophe, sticking a cigarette in his mouth. "Let 'im stay."

Gregory shrugged. "I suppose there's no reason why not. Kenny, you were saying?"

"I asked Kyle last night if he told anyone where we were going, or where Tweek was," said Kenny, pointedly ignoring Craig and Christophe's amused expressions. "He swears he didn't say a word. But he _did_ check out some of the stuff I told him on the internet. Someone could have gone through the history on his laptop. He left it switched on and alone a few times."

"That means if Kyle's computer was the source of the leak, it would have to be someone currently in South Park who hired our hitmen." Gregory frowned for a moment. "I think it might be time to corner the Professor."

"Whoa, wait," said Craig. "If Chalmers wanted Tweek dead, why did he hire _us_?"

"I'm not so sure he really wants Tweek dead," said Kenny thoughtfully. "He's gone to a lot of trouble to say how unlikely the prophecy is, but why would he bother if he thought there was nothing to it? And I got the feeling once or twice that he thinks it's real. Like we said, the easiest way to make the prophecy fail is to make sure Tweek can't be in the right place at the right time, and he can't be there if he's dead."

"So, he gets us in on this just in case plan A goes wrong and Tweek lives," said Craig. "That way, there's still someone trying to stop it."

"My thoughts exactly," said Gregory. "Although I find it odd that no one has as yet tried to find Tweek for the purpose of bringing about this prophecy. After all, the lunar eclipse is tonight."

Tweek was beginning to wish he'd just gone and taken the damn shower. Having everyone discuss his possible death wasn't helping his mental state at all. He could feel his shakes increasing and willed himself to remain still – he wasn't going to spazz out over this, he _wasn't_. He was going to prove he wasn't some pussy who panicked at the first sign of danger; he could cope with this. He really could.

Ah, who was he trying to kid? His hands were itching to start yanking on his hair and his constant mild tremors were giving way to the sporadic violent jerks that indicated imminent meltdown.

"I was in the area of the motel last night," said Gregory. "I noticed the Professor returning at around midnight and he seemed in an extremely bad humour."

"Yeah," said Kenny. "That might have been my fault actually."

"In that case, it might be for the best if you didn't attend our next meeting." Gregory looked at Christophe. "That means you'll have to come along instead. Try to be nice."

"Nice? 'ow nice?"

Kenny scowled darkly. "He told Kyle that getting his degree meant putting out."

"I see." Gregory mulled over the news. "You don't have to be that nice."

Christophe smirked. "Zat's good."

"Kenny, Craig." Gregory turned to them. "You'll be taking Tweek out of South Park. I've arranged a safehouse in Denver. It's closer than I'd like, but you should be able to get there before the eclipse. Make sure that he doesn't leave your sight. If all goes well, by tomorrow this should all be over with."

Craig nodded. "Keep Tweek safe for twenty-four hours. Got it. By the way, he wants to let his boyfriend know he's safe. He lost his cell."

Kenny and Christophe suddenly seemed torn between looking innocent and trying to communicate to Craig that it was a stupid thing to bring up.

"I'm afraid not," replied Gregory. "I'm sorry Tweek, but we really can't afford to let anyone know where you are. In the morning, you can call him and have him pick you up, if you like."

"Uh, sure," said Tweek, sounding less than thrilled by the prospect. He could already imagine what Elliot would say; he'd be lucky to be able to leave the apartment ever again. Elliot would be busy telling him how dangerous it was out there, how there was no reason for him to go anywhere when he didn't need anything. He'd insist he could supply Tweek with everything he could ever need and Tweek would stare at the walls all day and slowly go insane.

"We'd better get some shit together," said Kenny. "Can we find some clothes for Tweek to wear?"

"I'll get something," replied Craig, his tone businesslike. "We're gonna need weapons."

"We'll remain here, in case anything does occur," said Gregory. "It's too far for radio contact, so stay by your phones. Christophe... just please leave the shovel in the back of the car."

**~:~**

William Chalmers was not enjoying the field excursion so far.

Getting the funding for a trip to South Park had seemed a good omen, since otherwise he would have to have taken leave and gone on his own initiative, which would have looked suspicious. A further bonus was finding that Kyle Broflovski actually _grew up_ in the town – he'd been planning on having Kyle on the trip anyway and that he knew so much about the carvings seemed serendipitous. And that he could identify the subject nailed it. Everything had come together perfectly, as if the Gods were smiling upon him.

Huh. Right.

Arriving in South Park was like being rudely shoved down the rabbit hole; the entire town was incomprehensibly strange and it seemed as though time had sped up. The eclipse had been rescheduled, giving him no room to prepare. The work on deciphering the carvings had yielded some benefit, but they were frustratingly vague. He needed more time, more information, but he wasn't going to get it.

And the one thing he had been certain of had been a failure too. He'd noticed Kyle the moment he stepped into the classroom and discovering how frighteningly bright and yet oblivious the boy was had been just what he wanted. There was a sure-fire method to the seduction; single out the student and give them praise and encouragement, be friendly and approachable, yet unattainable. Gradually, the student became enamoured, willing to do pretty much anything to please their tutor. It took months, sometimes years, but the pursuit was just as satisfying as the catch. It had _never_ failed before. Occasionally some persuasion was needed, but no one had ever shot away from him like Kyle had. Using Kyle's education as leverage had been a first for him and he might even have got it to work – except for that white trash _hick_, who had somehow managed to outsmart him.

He'd been up all night and hadn't found a trace of a bug.

There was a store opposite the motel and he went to it before any of the other students could wake up. He knew Kyle was back – he'd heard the man arrive, since their rooms were conveniently side by side. And he'd been _whistling_. Well, he wasn't going to take it, Chalmers thought to himself as he paid for his purchases, caffeine drinks and coffee. He couldn't make good on his original threat to have Kyle thrown off the excursion – although he hated to admit it, most of the progress they'd made on the prophecy had been because of him – but once it was over with, Kyle would still be one of _his_ students and he was going to learn that a university Professor could make life _very_ difficult for the future if he wanted to.

Stuffing his change into his pocket, he walked out of the shop, the purchases in a carrier bag. No sooner had he got three steps from the door than the handle broke and he sighed, pausing so that he could get a better grip on it.

A hand covered his mouth, an arm snaking around his waist and picking him off the floor. It was so sudden that it took him a moment to realise what was going on, by which time he'd already been dragged backwards. Chalmers struggles were futile, whoever had him was too strong.

He was pulled into an alley beside the store. There was a car waiting there, which seemed vaguely familiar, but Chalmers had only time to notice that the trunk was open before he was shoved roughly inside. The lid slammed shut, trapping him.

"Hey!" He hammered on the metal, hoping it would spring open, but it remained obstinately shut. "_Hey_! Let me out! Help! Someone _help_!"

The car drove forward, Chalmers kicking and yelling in the hopes that once they got onto the road, someone would realise he was in there. But if anyone did, they didn't call the police and no sirens chased after them. The drive took twenty minutes and by the time the car came to a halt and the engine died, Chalmers was tired, sweating and hoarse from shouting.

He heard the front doors to the car open and closed and braced himself. He had no idea why anyone would want to kidnap him from the middle of the street, but he'd had plenty of time to consider the less pleasant possibilities.

When the trunk popped open he cowered back, expecting to be shot or attacked. When nothing happened, he peered out cautiously. He was still in South Park by the look; he thought he recognised this area as being near Starks Pond. It was quiet though, nothing but the sounds of birds to break the silence. And there was a man leaning against a tree, watching him with barely concealed amusement.

"Gregory!" Chalmers struggled out of the trunk, almost falling as he did so. He straightened up, aware that he was at a disadvantage. Usually he was well prepared and presented for any confrontation, not dishevelled, afraid and so angry he could barely speak.

"Good morning Professor Chalmers," replied Gregory, as if they were sitting down to breakfast. "I'm aware that this meeting is unscheduled, but I need to ask some more questions."

"You..." Chalmers clenched his fists. "I suppose Kyle Broflovski arranged this."

Gregory looked surprised. "Kyle? Goodness no. Why on earth would Kyle be involved?"

"Because..." Chalmers trailed off, not wanting to incriminate himself. "What's going on?"

"We're aware of your plan to kill Tweek Tweak. We'd like to know why."

Chalmers growled, trying to smooth his hair back into place. "I'm not taking these ridiculous accusations! I'm a Professor! I will not be threatened by you and your gang of petty thugs!"

Gregory inclined his head slightly, as if musing over this. "I see. Mole?"

Chalmers turned to see a second man behind him. Not the blonde that Kyle had seemed so fond of – he'd been bad enough with his scruffy looks and hidden weaponry. This man was dark, unshaven and had a cigarette sticking from the corner of his mouth. He was also making less of a secret about carrying weapons, a single bandoleer carrying an array of bullets and other items he could only begin to guess at.

There was also a shovel on his back. That was when Chalmers began to really worry. Shovels meant digging. He was out here all alone with two madmen who were planning on doing some digging.

This was not good.

The dark-haired man – the Mole – walked forward, seemingly impassive. Gregory indicated to Chalmers. "We really don't have time for this."

The Mole nodded, removing the cigarette from his mouth momentarily. Then in one fluid motion, he took a gun from his arsenal and shot Chalmers in the foot.

Chalmers screamed, collapsing to the ground and nursing his injury, tears running down his cheeks, staring at the two men with a mixture of disbelief and pain. Through his hazy vision, he could see Gregory lean closer to him.

"If you'd start at the beginning. Why do you want to kill Tweek?"

"He _shot _me," wailed Chalmers.

"I'd hate to think you were making all that fuss because he missed. Now, could you tell us what's going on?"

For a moment, Chalmers considered keeping quiet – then his eyes fell on the Mole, who was smoking calmly, seeming slightly bored. That was a man who wouldn't hesitate to shoot him again. Caving in, Chalmers began to babble.

"It was a long time ago, I became involved with a group of people who were convinced the Peruvians were on to something with their prophecies and we found out about the chance of a major event happening at some point in the future, but everything was so _vague_. There were some markings that indicated something in Colorado that would tip the scales of power, but that was all. And they were so obsessed with it, I got scared, they were _insane _and so I got out of the group. Then the new carvings were discovered and I knew they'd be trying to act upon them – so I decided I had to try to stop them. It was the right thing to do!"

"I see." Gregory mused over this for a moment. "What about the hitmen?"

"If Tweek were to die, they couldn't carry out their crazed scheme – I know a man, he dropped out of the university with big problems and I offered him a lot of money to make _my_ problem go away. I found out where he was, I looked at Kyle's computer, I had a feeling that hick boy would tell him things you'd keep from me. I thought they could make it look like a robbery gone wrong, I didn't know they'd be _killed_. And now, they'll be after Tweek so that the prophecy can come to pass. Ah shit, that _hurts_."

"That's very good," said Gregory in an encouraging tone. "Now, who are 'they'?"

"They call themselves the Future Rulers – I don't know any names, I swear it! We always used aliases when we met up, they were protecting their privacy in case anyone found out what they were up to, even though they thought no one would ever believe they were right about the Peruvians."

Gregory nodded. "Are there any signs that they might have been in South Park recently?"

"No, nothing. That worries me more than anything else! I don't believe they aren't aware of the new carvings but I don't know how much they've managed to discover."

"I see. Is there anything else we should know about?"

"No, I..." Chalmers trailed off, staring at Mole with wide eyes as the mercenary made a big display of releasing the safety on the gun. "Tweek was on another carving!"

Narrowing his eyes, Gregory folded his arms and glared. "Do tell."

"There were another series of carvings found about seventeen miles from the ones you know about. They're not widely known about, since there was no real academic interest and they don't seem to tell anything. But they show some people featured on other carvings, a whole bunch of them and Tweek's visage was among them."

"Hmmm." Gregory wrinkled his brow into a frown. "Well, I think we've got all the information we need. Oh, but there is one other thing."

Chalmers shrank back as Gregory gave a pleasant smile, somehow more menacing for its lack of malice. "The Mole here, he doesn't have anything against you. He's just doing his job."

The Mole looked at Chalmers with a bored expression, nodding slightly as he lit a cigarette.

"However, you seem to have roused Kenny's ire. I'd suggest that before you return to your teaching, you consider a few things. We know where you live, where you work and several of your less salubrious secrets. Should Kyle find his return to schooling unusually difficult, I'm sure he'll let Kenny know and I doubt he'll be as, uh, reasonable as the Mole."

"_Reasonable_? He _shot_ me!"

"It's something to think about. Have a good day Professor." Gregory walked over to the car and climbed in the drivers seat, the Mole removing the shovel and throwing it in the backseat before getting in the passenger side. For a moment, Chalmers wondered if they would just reverse over him – he wasn't exactly in a state to get up and run – but instead, they drove away and left him where he was.

Out in the woods, away from civilization, with a bullet in his foot.

Whoever the Gods were smiling on that day, it wasn't him.

Christophe glanced at Gregory as he manoeuvred the car across the uneven terrain toward the road. "What is ze problem?"

"The problem is that we've been working on the assumption that Tweek's involvement in this has only just come to light," said Gregory, sounding mildly concerned. "However, if there were other carvings, he could have been under surveillance for much longer, possibly years. That increases the chances of him being discovered before tonight."

"They would 'ave 'ad to work out who 'e is from ze picture. Could zey 'ave done zat?"

"Chalmers said Colorado was indicated. And historically, South Park is a magnet for trouble and that's not a secret. We have to assume the worst." Gregory drove the car onto the road, keeping to the speed limit. "Would you check in with Kenny? It's against the law to use the phone while driving."

Christophe took his phone from his pocket. "You 'ave just kidnapped a man and watched 'im shot and you are worried about ze morons on ze police force giving you a ticket?"

"Appearances are important Christophe.".

Christophe dialled Kenny's number from memory, frowning as he listened. "Zere is no reply."

Gregory took his eyes off the road to stare at Christophe. "Try Craig."

"Already am doing – sheet, 'is phone isn't even switched on!"

"Damn!" Gregory floored the accelerator, suddenly seeming unworried about tickets. "I think we have to assume that whatever is planned for tonight has already been set in motion."


	12. What You Have Is Not Enough

**Authors Note: **Huge thanks to Alpha Hydra (if there were pictures, I'd have a new screensaver, lol!), Hypothisos (I love half-naked mercenaries!), Chels (Happy Christmas!), The Brat Prince (I think I can fit scary, sexy Kenny in somewhere!), Hayze-Chan (I didn't actually plan on having Chalmers shot, but Christophe seems to have a mind of his own) and Kenneth22 (I'm not entirely sure why Mole and Tweek bonding makes me so happy, but it does! And I'd illustrate some myself, but I never got beyond stick figures). You guys make writing this ten times more fun than it already is!

Happy St Georges Day!! Particularly to muh fellow Brits. Time to celebrate by donning our England shirts and hanging flags out the window! And, if you're anything like HMB, boozing and singing football chants. I've been amusing myself all day by imagining Pip getting steaming in celebration, then pointing to Damien and singing "Who's the bastard in the black?"

I wasn't going to post this chapter today cuz I'm not entirely happy with it, but I have the feeling that I'm _never_ gonna be totally happy with it, so I'm posting today anyway. Enjoy! Review! Floss!

**&*&*&*&**

Tweek stood nervously in the door to Craig's bedroom, watching as the other man went through drawers, pulling items aside. "Here," he said, throwing some clothes at Tweek. "Go get changed or something."

It would be a relief to get out of his own clothes, Tweek decided – he'd been wearing them for far too long. He'd even _slept _in them for crying out loud, definitely gross. Elliot would have had a heart attack, if he knew.

Craig had given him a T-shirt with a beer brand logo on the front and a pair of combats that were a few inches too long. They smelled of detergent – Craig had always been kinda funny about his clothes; he ended each day as grubby as the next guy but he started the day in just-washed freshness and never decided a shirt had a couple of days more wear left in it by sniffing at the armpits. Going into the bathroom and changing clothes, Tweek just hoped that they were an old pair of combats. By the time he was done, the ends of the legs would be shredded to shit thanks to him standing on them.

Through the door, he heard Kenny yelling up the stairs. _"CRAIG!"_

"_What?"_

"_I can't find the Beretta!"_

"_Christophe was using it to unblock the drain, did you try under the sink?"_

Tweek laughed quietly to himself. It was a weird-ass household, but somehow it seemed to work out. If he even lived through the night, maybe he could come back some time and hang out with them.

Yeah. Right. Elliot would _freak_. Not that he wasn't going to freak anyway, but still. Hanging out with hired killers and random thugs was alien to his way of life. He'd be eternally traumatised.

But then, reflected Tweek, in spite of the fear he was feeling, the upheaval of the last twenty-four hours, he was feeling _liberated_. No vague longings, no dissatisfaction. His worries were immediate and concrete, not free-floating. He hadn't felt so focused in years, as if he was finally a part of life instead of watching it from the sidelines.

Maybe it was time to ditch Elliot and try living life on his own terms for a while.

_And do what_, asked his internal critic. _You'll probably be raped and murdered the second you get out on your own. Assuming you don't die tonight, which you probably will. You can't deal with it Tweekers, face it. Let Elliot take care of you._

Tweek leant his forehead against the bathroom door. "I can deal with it," he murmured to himself, under his breath. "I can take the pressure. I can look after myself."

_How? No job, no home, no plans..._

Well, he had money. He could live off that for a while and see how things went. Maybe he could rent an apartment somewhere.

Like South Park.

If he faced up to his fears and mistakes, then maybe the rest of his life wouldn't seem like something he was running from. If his life flashed before his eyes tonight, all he would remember was being guided by stronger people into things he didn't want, chances missed and wasted time. Oh, and ten weeks and three days where he had taken control and incidentally, it had been the only time he'd come close to actually being satisfied.

"_Should I take some grenades?"_

"_What for?"_

"_We could have a barbecue!"_

That was it, he decided. He was going to break the news to Elliot tomorrow, that he was staying in South Park. Of course, Elliot would try to talk him around with endless rational arguments, but he wasn't going to crack. He _wasn't_. He'd done it when he stood up to his parents and he could do it again.

Opening the bathroom door, he walked out and back to Craig's room. The other man was reaching onto the top of his wardrobe, not acknowledging Tweek's presence. Whatever he was searching for was elusive and Tweek, not wanting to interrupt, hovered at the door. Craig's shirt had ridden up and Tweek couldn't help noticing the strip of flesh that was revealed. He knew exactly how that particular area felt; when they were younger, his fingers had brushed that same area when he let his hands wander beneath clothes, the first stop if not the last.

_Oh, I get it,_ said that mocking voice in his head again. _You're staying because of Craig. That's just great. He moved on, forgot all about you – remember that picture, he has a GIRLfriend. And he probably hates you, since he was the one who went to jail for what you did. What are you gonna say to him? Hey, I know I fucked up your life, but why don't we try again anyway? Shit, you're pathetic._

Tweek twitched, trying to get those stupid, negative thoughts out of his head, but they went on and on, laughing at him in a voice that sounded only coincidentally like his own.

_He's a mercenary, jackass! How do you think you'd cope every time he had to go on a mission? You'd fall apart. And he could get killed, or get YOU killed. Stay with Elliot. Stay _safe_. Don't do anything you'll regret._

"Gotcha!" Craig finally snagged something from the top of the wardrobe and pulled it down, turning to look at Tweek. "Knew I had some Uzi ammo around here some place."

"Uzi?" said Tweek in a high voice. "Like in _gnk_ hasta la vista baby?"

"Different model." Craig dropped the ammo onto the desk. "Don't worry, it's just a precaution."

"I'm not worried," replied Tweek, surprised to find he was telling the truth. Maybe because he couldn't imagine finally deciding to take some risks, only to die before he could put his plans into action. Or maybe because he still trusted Craig and if Craig said not to worry, he didn't have to.

Craig raised an eyebrow at the declaration, rummaging around for something in the desk drawer and finally locating a hat. Tweek stared as he yanked it over his hair. There was no way it could be the same hat he'd perpetually worn when they were teenagers – that one had been burned to a crisp – but it was enough like it to give him a serious sense of deja-vu.

He'd always really liked how Craig looked in that hat.

"You'll be in the safe house by the time the lunar eclipse comes along," continued Craig. "Then in the morning, it'll be over and you can get back to your apartment."

"I'm not going back. _Ack_!"

Craig paused. "Say what?"

"I'm not going back. I'm... I'm bored. I'm sick of it. GAH! I can't take it anymore! It's like fucking Groundhog Day! Nothing ever changes!"

"Tweek..."

"I mean it! I'm finding a place of my own and _gnk_ do what _I_ want for once and _ack_ you can't talk me out of it!"

"Wasn't planning on trying," said Craig, managing to look both amused and endeared. Tweek hesitated. No, he probably wasn't. Craig had always told Tweek he should stick up for himself more often and ditching a cushy life because it was boring was probably the ultimate act of mindless rebellion.

"I'm tired of running away," said Tweek quietly. "_Ack_! I need to get my life back."

Craig looked back at him intently. "Tweek, if that's what you want, then do it. Go for it. You're stronger than you think you are, you'll make it all work out."

"The last time..."

"The last time, we ran into some _shitty_ luck." Craig moved closer and rested his hand on Tweek's shoulder. "We didn't exactly get a lot of choice about what happened to us."

Tweek looked up and met Craig's eyes, thinking about how in the last few hours, his life should have been falling apart when in reality, it seemed to be coming together. About how when Craig was in the room, he couldn't remember any of the reasons why he should be keeping his distance. About the things he really wanted out of life and how all of them involved Craig in some way.

Craig didn't look away, but his grip on Tweek's shoulder tightened and he moved almost imperceptibly forward, his voice virtually a whisper. "This is a really bad idea..."

"The hell with it," murmured Tweek, raising a hand to caress his cheek before leaning forward and brushing against his lips. For a moment it was tentative, their mouths barely touching, then Craig surrendered to it. The hell with caution, the hell with hands off, the hell with professional distance. He wrapped his arms around Tweek's shoulders, deepening the kiss, snaking his tongue into the other man's mouth possessively.

Tweek pressed himself closer to Craig, returning the kiss with the same breathless fervour, his hands pulling off the hat and tangling themselves in Craig's hair, making sure he couldn't move away.

Craig wasn't sure if he shoved Tweek or if Tweek pulled him, but somewhere alone the line they had moved over to the bed without even noticing, Tweek's legs giving way as they hit it, both of them tumbling onto the covers, still kissing, hands roaming to explore each other, limbs entwined. Tweek ran his hands up Craig's shirt, fingers finding his nipple and pinching it. With a moan, Craig pushed Tweek onto his back and forced a leg between his, rubbing against him and _shit_, it was as if they'd never been apart, no awkwardness, no timidity, just letting themselves be overtaken by the moment.

Tweek gasped, bucking his hips, breaking the kiss for the first time and smiling at Craig, eyes half lidded. He leaned up and ran the tip of his tongue over the skin near Craig's jugular, his breath feathering over the damp spot. Craig shivered. He'd always been sensitive there and Tweek knew it. He'd almost forgotten, but it was coming back to him now; Tweek was a fucking tease.

Lowering his head to rest on the crook of Tweek's shoulder, he ground his hips against him again, stifling a cry as Tweek began sucking on his neck, nipping, kissing, and it was all too easy to imagine what else he could do with that mouth... ah _God_, that wasn't a good place to let his mind go.

Dimly, he was aware of someone calling his name, but Tweek was pulling him even closer, his hands on the bare skin of his back beneath his shirt, breathing irregularly in his ear, and it was easy to ignore the interruption.

"_Craig, dammit!"_

Tweek nipped briefly at his ear and put a hand to Craig's cheek, moving his face so their lips met again, more gently this time, slowing the pace. Evidently, he'd heard the shouting too.

"_Did you two die up there?"_

Craig closed his eyes and with a hiss of frustration, rolled away from Tweek and onto his back. "Kenny, _shit_! I'll just be a minute!"

"_Dude, we gotta get going!"_

"I _know_! I said I'll be one. Fucking. _Minute_!"

There was a long pause from downstairs, followed by a chuckle and a barely audible, "Oooohhh..."

Flipping off the general direction of the door, Craig struggled to regain his bearings. He wasn't entirely sure how he'd gone from searching for bullets to making out with the guy they were supposed to be looking after in less than ten minutes, but he _did_ know that he was going to have to get himself under control, fast, or else he wasn't going to be any use at all.

Control. Right. He'd lost control the moment he had kissed Tweek. If Kenny had waited five more minutes before shouting – damn, if he thought about _that_, then they'd never leave the bedroom.

Willing his breathing and heart rate to return to normal, he risked opening an eye. Tweek had sat up, but he was resting his weight on one hand, staring down with eyes that seemed a shade darker than usual, a devious smile playing on his lips. From experience, Craig knew that expression meant he was considering some _very_ wicked thoughts. It didn't help his control any.

"We've got to get moving," he said, trying to sound cool and in control; to his own ears, he sounded reluctant.

"Okay," replied Tweek, his voice shaking slightly. He stood and began smoothing down his clothes, attempting to tame his hair, which was sticking up worse than ever. Craig sat up, looking around for his hat, inwardly cursing.

Damn Kenny.

**~:~**

Kenny was leaning against the van wearing a familiar shit-eating grin when Craig emerged from the house, Tweek trailing behind him. As soon as they appeared, Kenny raised his eyebrows and leered.

"Fuck off McCormick," said Craig, throwing the bag he'd brought from his room into the back of the van. "Not a fucking word."

"I didn't say anything!" said Kenny, faking an injured look.

"Are we ready to go?"

"Unless you want to go back up the stairs for a while longer." Kenny laughed as Craig flipped him off.

Looking mildly nervous over the exchange, Tweek got into the front of the van, followed by Craig – the van had been modified to allow three people to travel in the front, giving them more room in the back for anything they were carrying. Kenny jumped into the drivers seat, gunning the engine.

"Road trip!" he sang cheerfully, pulling out onto the road.

"As long as we're far away from South Park tonight," muttered Craig, lighting a cigarette.

"Yeah," said Kenny dejectedly. "I hope Kyle's not too bummed about what this'll do to his thesis."

"You're worried about Kyle's schoolwork?" Craig smirked. "You got whipped in a hurry."

"Fuck off." Kenny shot a sideways glance at Craig. "Hey, remember when the three of us were talking about getting tattoos?"

"Yeah, we decided to wait until the tequila wore off and never got around to it. Why?"

"Well, it's just that the two of us have matching hickeys."

Tweek flushed a deep red and Craig scowled. "Dammit Kenny, we do _not_ have matching hickeys!"

"Yeah, to be a real matching set, Christophe'd have to get one too."

Craig snorted. "Yeah, that's likely. He's off trying to save the world with Gregory."

There was a long silence as they considered this. Kenny sighed. "I really wish I hadn't put those two thoughts together."

"Amen," said Craig fervently.

"Imagine the argument over who topped."

Craig stuck his cigarette in the side of his mouth and sneered. "Eet eez I 'oo am ze top beetch!"

Kenny snorted with laughter and played along. "Old chap, I'm the boss here and I my orders are that I am on top!"

"I weel keel you! Weez ze shovel! She is a jealous mistress!"

"My good man, I can fire you. From a cannon if necessary."

Tweek started laughing. "Those accents are _shitty_."

"And this whole conversation is just too fucked up." Kenny glanced in his rear view mirror, pulling over to the side of the road slightly to allow a boy racer in a sports car overtake. "Thinking like that is gonna – Craig, check this."

Craig glanced over sharply, noticing the change in Kenny's voice, from joking to deadly serious. The sports car pulling level with them was sleek with tinted windows, very unsuitable for the South Park roads and the inclement weather. Getting a glimpse of the driver was impossible.

Feeling Tweek's trembling intensify, Craig frowned and took the gun from his hip. "It's fine Tweek. We're just being careful."

"He's taking his sweet time getting past us," muttered Kenny suspiciously.

As if hearing the complaint, the driver suddenly sped up and overtook, turning a corner and leaving their sight. Kenny growled. "Prick."

"Who can afford a car like that around here?" asked Craig.

"I'm pretty sure that wasn't Token's 'rents," replied Kenny. "Keep an eye out."

It took several miles before the incident with the sports car was put behind them. Kenny concentrated on driving. The roads were hella slippery in the mountains and the winding roads they were taking to join the main road to Denver didn't help matters. In spite of the vans upgrades, it was still difficult to manoeuvre safely.

"That sports car probably went off the road," muttered Kenny, hoping they didn't come across a wreck. They couldn't afford to leave the van and help out, but it didn't sit right with him to do nothing. Maybe he was being overly worried.

Craig said nothing, keeping his eyes on their surroundings. There was nothing save for the usual views of fields and cows, only the occasional tree adding to the variation. And they weren't being tailed; that much was obvious on the quiet roads.

Then he saw a flash of sunlight reflect off something in a tree and knew without having to be told what it was.

"_Sniper!"_

Kenny grabbed the wheel harder, his knuckles whitening as he hit the gas. Craig grabbed the back of Tweek's head and shoved it down, trying to get him out of the way of any harm. The windows were bulletproof, the car was practically a tank, but he wasn't about to take chances.

The van sped up immediately, but this stretch of road was more open than it had been, the lack of tree cover meaning they were temporarily exposed. A crack rang out, then another, something heavy hitting the side of the van. Tweek screamed.

The third crack came just as the van was about to turn the corner and be out of danger. The vehicle lurched to one side, suddenly sagging at the front right side and cursing, Kenny let off the gas for a moment.

"Tyre's blown!" he yelled urgently.

"Shit!" Craig glanced out of the window, gun in hand but not trying to get off a shot at their attacker. For one thing he was too well hidden, for another it would mean winding down the window and exposing them further. Their best chance was to ride out the shots... but that was beginning to look like an impossible task.

The shredded rubber whapped against the asphalt and ahead of them came another turn on the winding road, revealing a fifteen foot drop into a field of cows. Gripping the steering wheel tighter, Kenny had only a split second in which to make up his mind. Calmly, he applied minimal pressure to the brakes, which should have slowed them enough to make the turn even with one tyre useless.

Should have.

They were out of sight of where the original sniper had been and so when the fourth bullet sounded, both mercenaries realised they were dealing with a trained team rather than a lone lunatic. The knowledge didn't do them much good; although the first guy had needed three shots, the fourth hit the left front tyre dead on. Suddenly, there was no traction at all on the icy road.

Kenny hit the handbrake and turned hard into the corner. The van whipped 180 degrees, rear tyres smoking under the pressure. For a moment it looked as if the gambit would work; the van made the corner with an inch or so to spare...

...Then the momentum of the turn sent the rear of the van off the edge of the road and it fell backwards, hitting the slope hard enough to spring the rear doors open before rolling once and coming to a stop on its side in the field.

Kenny had taken his hands off the wheel to protect his head the moment they left he road, but as soon as he knew they weren't rolling any more, he checked the damage. Craig was raising his head to do the same, arms still wrapped around Tweek, who had his head buried into the brunettes chest, but judging by the shaking was conscious and unhurt. There was no way he could hit the gas and get them away; not until they had righted the van and that meant leaving it. The van had landed on the passenger side, so Craig's door was stuck firmly against the ground. Through his own window, Kenny could see only sky.

"Nice driving Kenny," growled Craig, unhooking his seat belt with his gun at the ready. Kenny grabbed a weapon of his own and glanced into the rear of the van, where they would be most vulnerable to attack, since the doors had come open in the fall. There was no sign of people and no tell-tale shadows nearby. For a moment, Kenny wondered if they'd fallen victim to some idiot who was just shooting at them for fun.

The notion was dispelled when a canister clanged against the metal innards of the van and white smoke began shooting out.

"Shit!" Kenny unlocked his door and shoved it upwards until it slammed against the outside, wriggling through it like a hatch. Behind him, he could hear Tweek's chokes and hoped that Craig had the good sense to try covering his mouth and nose until he could follow.

A second cannister hit him, smacking him with high velocity in the middle of his forehead. Had he thought about it, he would have realised it came from a gun designed for such projectiles, but the only thing that occurred to him right then was how much that _hurt_. The blow caused his precarious hold on the vans exterior to slip and he half-slithered back inside the van, the cannister blasting smoke directly into his face.

A wave of dizziness overcame him and he let go of the car entirely, dropping back against Tweek and Craig, who lay motionless against the passenger door beneath. Kenny's last thought before slipping into unconsciousness was that he should have been expecting something like this. Prophecies always found a way to come about.


	13. Positions, People

**Author Note: **Huge thanks to Dragon of Darkness8705 (I'm chuffed as hell to be inspiring!), Alpha Hydra, Chels, Hypothisos, Kenneth22, The Brat Prince and for reviewing! I get serious warm fuzzies whenever I see the messages in my inbox. It's like... acceptance, lol.

So, I'm gonna be posting that angsty Dip story I was talking about a few chapters back. It's tentatively called _Possessions _and will be up in the next twenty-four hours... GAH! I panic so much about these things. I tend to feel like a lynch mob's gonna show at my house and beat me or something. So y'know, check it out but don't hunt me down and beat me. Coz I'll cry.

**&*&*&*&**

"Ze tyres 'ave been shot out," said Christophe, examining the front of the empty van. "Zey hit ze ice up zere, fell down 'ere."

"There's no blood," said Gregory from the rear of the van, picking up the empty gas cannister. "But I think we can safely say, where ever they went, it wasn't of their own free will."

"_Fuck!_" Christophe slammed his fist against the van in frustration. "Zis 'as all gone to sheet. We 'ave to find zem!"

"We will," replied Gregory, frowning as he considered the options. "The one thing we can be sure of is that Tweek will be taken to the area where the prophecy is to occur. Near Starks Pond, during the lunar eclipse. We should establish a point there where we can wait for our moment to strike."

"Zat's fine for Tweek, zey need 'im," said Christophe angrily. "Zey don't need Kenny and Craig, 'ow do we know zey will not be dead before zat?"

"Because the easiest course of action would have been to shoot them here," replied Gregory, maddeningly calm. "There's no sign that they were hurt, no blood, apparently no shots fired inside the van. They were taken alive."

"_Why?"_

"I'd guess for leverage. Tweek's more likely to behave if there's a chance of them getting hurt." Gregory hesitated for a moment. "And if they know Kenny and Craig weren't working alone, then they'll hope _we're_ less likely to go in with all guns blazing."

Christophe scowled darkly. "So, do you even _'ave_ a plan?"

"Of course," said Gregory, his confident tones not fooling Christophe, who knew him well enough to detect the undertone of worry. That made him more angry than before. Gregory was _never_ worried; no matter how crazy or seemingly suicidal the mission, his confidence never wavered and they always came out in one piece – well, except Kenny. That Gregory had doubts about their success made Christophe wonder if this time, they were going to fail.

**~:~**

"I just don't get it."

Lindsay leant against the wall outside the motel, frowning. There was no sign of Professor Chalmers anywhere in the motel and they had waited for ages before going on a hunt around South Park. The plan was to meet back at the motel after and hour, but none of the team had located him.

"Tonight's the night and he's just – vanished. I really don't like this." She shook her head, looking at the other team members, her worry turning to aggravation when she noticed that Kyle was looking far from concerned. In fact, he wasn't concentrating on the matter at hand at all, merely looking in her general direction with unfocused eyes and a slight grin that suggested his mind was elsewhere.

"Kyle!"

"Huh?" Kyle managed to focus on her. "Oh, I'm sure he'll turn up. Maybe we ought to get back to the translations instead of wasting the day searching for him."

"But they're _his_ translations!" Lindsay stared at Kyle suspiciously. "Normally you'd be worried about him. What's going on?"

Kyle was saved from answering when a car sped into the parking lot of the motel. The driver saw the group and did a spectacular handbrake turn, leaving a circle of burnt rubber on the asphalt. By the time it stopped, the passenger side window was down and the man was looking directly at Kyle.

"Gregory?" Kyle went over to the car and leaned his head through the window, ignoring the curious gaze of his fellow students.

"That was unnecessarily theatrical Christophe," Gregory said to the driver, receiving only a grunt in response, before turning his attention to Kyle. "We could use your services. Kenny, Craig and Tweek have run into some trouble."

Kyle's mouth went dry and his heart began to speed up. "Trouble? What kind of trouble?"

"We don't know. They're missing."

"Missing! You mean, you don't know where they are?"

"That is the usual meaning of the word," replied Gregory. "We think it's related to the eclipse tonight. We could use your input on the situation."

Kyle yanked the rear door open and jumped in the car. "Let's go."

"Kyle!" Lindsay ran over to the vehicle. "Where are you going? What about the study?"

"I'm moving on to the practical!" Kyle leant between the front two seat as the car sped off again. "You know, Chalmers is AWOL too. Think it has anything to do with Kenny going missing?"

"I shouldn't think so," replied Gregory, avoiding meeting Kyle's eyes. "What we're planning to do – well, it will be very dangerous. Do _not_ get involved. We're trained for this. You're not."

"I don't even know what your plan is."

"Christophe and I shall infiltrate the rendezvous point prior to the eclipse," Gregory told him. "While our unknown enemies are occupied with their preparations, we shall make our move. Once there, the advantage is ours – they have to preserve the scene while all we have to do is disrupt it however we can. But we'll need a lookout, some one who can tell us when the site becomes more active. That's where you come in. You'll be situated some distance away, observing through a lens. Your job is to relay information back to us. Can you handle it?"

"Yeah," said Kyle, his face a mask of determination.

"No matter what happens, _remain in position_." Gregory stared at Kyle impassively. "The last thing we need is another civilian to rescue."

"I get it!" Kyle leant back against the seat, wondering what the hell could have gone wrong. Kenny had seemed optimistic about the situation that morning – but then again, Kenny had been in a stupidly good mood that morning and Kyle smiled a little, guessing he had something to do with that. He still had trouble believing it. He'd always thought that there was nothing short of an apocalypse that would force him to confess his secret feelings towards the blonde.

His smile faded. It would suck to be right about that.

**~:~**

It was dark and cold and dank. Moisture seeped through the walls, making the air chillier than it already was in South Park. There was no sound, save for the constant scratching of the shovel against earth.

Gregory held the torch steady, although it was not really needed, watching the Mole at work. The man was turned away from him, digging at the tunnel that began back in the trees near Starks Pond, in an area where the hole was unlikely to be discovered. His exertions were keeping away the cold; he'd already discarded his jacket and the torchlight showed the darkening patch on the back of his shirt. The heavily corded muscles on his arm stood out as he manoeuvred the shovel, dig, scoop, discard. When he turned his head enough for Gregory to get a look at his face, there was an intensity there – but a peacefulness too. Gregory could understand that. There was something rhythmic about the repeated motions, action without excitement, a journey less arduous than the destination. It was almost meditative.

The Mole spoke unexpectedly, almost startling him. Almost. "You think zat Kyle will remain in position?"

Gregory shrugged his shoulders, aware that the other man could see the movement in his shadow even if he wasn't looking directly at him. "I hope so. He might be worried about Kenny, but he knows better than anyone that Kenny doesn't stay dead for too long. It's not an incentive for him to get involved."

"Humph." Christophe continued shovelling as he spoke. "I think you underestimate 'im."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. He's our last hope if anything goes amiss, so we have to trust he'll do the right thing."

The Mole glanced sharply over his shoulder, but Gregory was standing behind the light and his expression was impossible to make out. "You _expect_ 'im to do something? Is zis part of some fucking messed-up plan?"

Gregory laughed without much humour. "Christophe my friend, I gave up on planning hours ago. I'm just following my instincts."

The Mole stopped shovelling and turned to face Gregory. "Your _instincts_ 'ad better be right."

"They've never seen me wrong before."

"If anything 'appens to zem, I will 'ave your ass on a plate."

"_Bon appetit."_

Christophe growled low in his throat, turning back to the tunnel and slamming the shovel angrily into the soil, hefting the load over his shoulder, covering Gregory with wet dirt. The wordless cry of protest was the first thing to make him smile since finding the abandoned van.

Glaring, Gregory tried to brush the dirt from his clothes. "Well, I hope you've got all your aggression toward me out of the way now."

His response was another faceful of dirt.

"Really Christophe, this is childish."

More soil rained over his shoulders.

"...I'll just let you dig, shall I?"

The Mole took another look over his shoulder and smirked. Gregory had set the torch aside so that he could examine the damage. By the light, he could see that the man's clothes were darkened by wet splatters of soil, his hair messed and the strands clumped together, a smear of dirt staining his forehead. It was the first time Christophe had ever seen his boss looking anything other than neat, the closest he ever usually got was slightly dishevelled and that was after a mission.

They remained in silence for a while, the only sounds disturbing the peace the steady shifting of soil. Gregory made no attempt to clean himself up, perhaps seeing it as a lost cause, instead concentrating on co-ordinates and carrying the assorted weaponry that the Mole had not kept on his person.

"This should be far enough," said Gregory eventually, after another hour or so of digging. "The tunnel spreads beneath the area Kyle believes the carvings point to. Where ever the eventual location for the ritual is, we should be able to tunnel up to it from here."

Christophe stopped digging, rotating his neck to get the kinks out. "And 'ow long before ze eclipse?"

Gregory checked his watch. "Two more hours. And so far, no word from Kyle about activity in the area."

"Maybe 'e 'as abandoned 'is post."

"I doubt it. Kyle's impulsive, but not stupid. He knows the best chance they have has is us."

Christophe sat on the tunnel floor, leaning his back against the wall, pulling out his cigarettes. "Oh? You know 'e is impulsive and untrained, yet you get 'im involved?"

Gregory examined the floor, then decided he couldn't get much dirtier and sat. "Well, if he does do something rash, we can use it as a distraction."

"_Oui_, until 'e gets 'imself shot."

"We'll just have to make sure that doesn't happen."

Christophe raised an eyebrow as he placed the cigarette in his mouth and flicked the lighter, the flame illuminating his face and casting his eyes into dark shadows. "I don't understand 'ow you think."

Gregory sighed, dwelling on how much easier it would have been to just shoot Tweek two days previously. Having morals sucked. "Sometimes I don't either. Can I have one of those?"

The pair sat in relatively companionable silence, smoking, waiting for something to happen.

**~:~**

Kyle had staked out an area near Starks Pond, if he turned in the other direction and looked through his binoculars, he would be able to see the frozen-over water glimmering in the early twilight. But his thoughts were a hundred miles away from the pond, determinedly so. Passing by it earlier, he had been reminded of the all the times over the years he had gone skating with his friends there and instead of the usual pleasant recollections, had been taken back to the four times that Kenny had fallen through the ice and drowned. It had always been sudden, that much stood out. One moment he was there, huddled in his threadbare parka that stood out bright orange against the white, the next moment there was a crack and he was gone, as if he had never been there at all.

He knew the area well, having found all the best hiding places as a kid, playing around with Kenny and Stan and Cartman. It had served him when he looked for somewhere to conceal himself; there was a grove of trees with some evergreen bush growing at their base from which Kyle could see the best route to getting into the woods by car. The bush had thorns and they pulled at his clothes, but that was a minor annoyance compared to his nagging fear that there was another way to enter the trees in a vehicle, or that the people he awaited would merely go on foot. If that was the case, he was screwed. He'd dug a hole for better concealment – actually, the Mole had, refusing to allow Kyle to borrow the shovel – and although it cut the wind chill factor a little and he'd made a pit-stop back at his parents house to grab some more suitable clothing for a stakeout, he was still cold.

It was almost dark when he saw the van arrive.

Hurriedly re-adjusting the binoculars, he checked out the vehicle. A van, elderly and nondescript – similar to the one that Kenny used, claiming no one looked twice at something that was so mundane. It could be teenagers, looking for a place to make out. Could be.

Catching a glimpse of the driver through the window, he dispelled the notion. The guy looked too old to be taking his girlfriend into the woods for a quick grope away from parental supervision. There was someone in the passenger seat, but he couldn't get a good look at them.

Grabbing the radio Gregory had given him, he pressed the transmit button. "Uh, ten-four, copy that, over."

Gregory's voice sounded over the airwaves, bemused. "Excuse me?"

"A van just arrived. There's two people, a guy and someone else. I don't think they're here for the scenery."

"Right. Stay where you are and let us know if you see anyone else arrive. Be very careful, this isn't a game."

"I get it." Kyle replaced the radio and continued watching the van until it drove out of sight. The woods were still again for long minutes, then he detected something, a faint light through the trees and a curl of smoke rising. Someone had lit a fire.

A second vehicle arrived, this one a sports car that was woefully inadequate for the icy conditions. There were fresh scratches down the side and Kyle hoped that it cost the guy a _lot_ of money to get it fixed. The tinted windows meant that he couldn't see how many people were inside.

"Another car," he said to the radio. "Don't know how many people are inside though."

"Right." Gregory sounded far too calm for Kyle's liking; _he_ was nervous as hell. "We're moving in shortly, so we'll need radio silence. Your part in this is over, go home."

"_What?" _Kyle pressed the transmit button again and hissed into the radio. "Gregory? Gregory, you arrogant prick, answer me!"

There was nothing but static.

"Shithead!" Kyle threw the radio aside in disgust, readjusting the binoculars. The sports car was gone in the same direction as the van, there was nothing more to see, but Kyle wasn't going home. No way, no how. Not until he could be sure that Kenny was safe.

A part of him wanted to get closer, but his more sensible side rejected the idea. Getting himself involved might make things more complicated for the rescuers, it could jeopardise the mission and get everyone into serious trouble. It would be for the best if he stayed out of the way and left the heroics up to the professionals.

Still, he was _really_ pissed off. Some one had kidnapped his boyfriend – he mellowed a little as the phasing occurred to him, then lost the good feeling as he considered the circumstances – and he was being told to stay the hell away. He didn't have a clue what was going on over there, if everyone was still safe – if Kenny was even there. He could be dead.

The idea of Kenny being dead sent a wild flutter of panic through Kyle. Kenny died all the time, true, but if he died _now_, then it would be because Kyle had dragged him into this whole thing. It wasn't like Kyle had never been involved in his death before, most notably the whole zombie chainsaw massacre incident, and Kenny had always been pretty forgiving about it – at least, he'd never mentioned it or seemed to hold a grudge – but Kyle couldn't shake the fear that it would change things. Assuming there was still a world to come back to, should they fail.

And that was just thinking about Kenny. There were other people to think about, people that _didn't_ come back once they were killed, at least, not to date. If they died too, then Kyle was responsible. All because he had wanted an excuse to spend more time around Kenny.

Although if he was honest with himself, it had been worth it.

The sound of an engine jolted him from his reverie and he swung the binoculars up to see a third car approaching. Narrowing his eyes, he checked out the occupants – two men in the front, no one visible in the back. The car itself was a few years old but well maintained and not one he recognised from around South Park – probably not a local from the lack of snow tyres.

Snatching up the radio again, he tried to get a message to the mercenaries. "Gregory? Gregory! Christophe?"

Only the faint hiss of static.

"Son of a _bitch_!" Kyle tossed the radio aside again and stared through the binoculars. The car had come to a halt further into the trees – it was a gas guzzler and Kyle suspected it was too wide to fit though the trail. No matter; they could get out and walk and the new arrivals might be the thing to put a serious crimp in a rescue mission.

Fortunately, Kyle wasn't unprepared.

His stop at his parents house might have taken less time had he not taken a moment to go into Ike's room, feeling furtive as he did so although he doubted his little brother would object when he found out the reason. Their mother pried into every drawer, meaning that both boys had grown up with an innate ability to find the places she wouldn't look for their more secret items. Pulling back the bed, Kyle had discovered an untacked piece of carpet and thrown it aside, the loose floorboard becoming obvious with some examination. Beneath it there was a stash of playboys and beneath _them_, a few choice items that would sent their mother into one of her ranting fits.

Thank the heavens for little brothers with sidelines in helping out mercenaries.

With the reassuring weight of a pair of handguns tucked into his belt, hidden from the prying eyes of Gregory and Christophe, he crept toward the car.

**~:~**

Kenny knew he was in big trouble before he even regained consciousness.

It wasn't unusual for him to be aware of his surroundings even before he came fully awake; it was a part of his training. When he was in his own bed, his mind switched off and allowed him to wake up naturally. When he was on a couch with a hangover, his mind never really got started. When he was in a bed that clearly wasn't his own, his mind would assess the night before and send signals to either snuggle up or get the hell out. At least those things offered him the luxury of movement.

When he realised he was sat up with his hands behind his back, his options suddenly became a lot more limited.

As he came around fully, he tried to hide it by holding his position and keeping his eyes closed, controlling his breathing while he used his other senses to attempt to pinpoint his location. There was a breeze against his face and he was sitting on something that felt suspiciously like mud. That indicated he was outdoors. His hands were behind him, tied with rope rather than cuffed, which was a bonus, although not much of one. He was leaning back against another person, their hands tethered to his and their body propping him up, by which Kenny decided they had been allowed to remain upright by virtue of each others weight, like drunks helping each other walk home after a long night. There was the low mutter of conversation from somewhere and the scent of fire reached him, although it was faint enough to indicate it was a controlled fire rather than an out of control blaze.

Quickly, he took inventory on his injuries. There were a couple of bruises and sore spots from their tumble into the field and his arms had gone to sleep. His lungs felt as if he had smoked an entire box of cigars and his head was a little swimmy, both after-effects of the gas, but mostly he was fine.

The person he was tied to was moving very slightly, tensing and relaxing their forearms, presumably attempting to loosen their bonds. That indicated one of his colleagues, also pretending to have not awoken yet and that was another bonus. Letting his mind drift to the last thing he remembered, Kenny realised it had to be Craig. They had been in the van together – with Tweek. But there were definitely only two of them tied together.

Kenny opened his eyes a fraction, looking out through his lashes. Outside, he had been right, but unless he moved his head, he wasn't going to see much else. He could see a pair of legs walking briefly into his line of vision, the tell-tale dancing light of a bonfire, the deepening gloom that filled him with a sense of foreboding. The eclipse was near and where the hell was Tweek?

"Craig?" he breathed, too low for anyone else to hear, barely moving his lips so as to seem as though he was still out of it.

"Can't see anything," came the reply, barely audible.

"Gotta get loose," finished Kenny, adding his own exertions to freeing the rope that bound them. But the knots were strong and his heart sank. It could take hours – and he had the feeling that time had just about run out.


	14. Is This Like A Soap Opera

**Authors Note: **Massive thanks to The Brat Prince, Hayze-Chan, Chels, R-Rocker, Kenneth22 and Alpha Hydra for the awesome reviews! I love you guys so much for them!

This chapter should probably have been up a couple of days ago, but since we're rapidly approaching the end of the story, I got kinda anxious about it (what will I do when it's over? GAH!). After crazed displacement activity, including doing actual housework and baking (I'm still not entirely sure what I'm gonna do with four chocolate cakes), I told myself not to be a frigging wuss and just post the thing. There are two chapters left after this one and I hope you like it!

**&*&*&*&*&**

"_GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"_

The panicked yell cut through Craig's pretence of being unconscious and he jerked his head up, no longer caring if he attracted attention. Tweek was shrieking and there was no way he wasn't going to check out if anything was happening to him.

It was the first time he was able to take in the entire scene. They were in a clearing he recognised as being near Starks Pond, although even as kids they hadn't used that area much, something about it being too creepy. There were five people milling about, all turning to look as soon as he moved his head. But he wasn't interested in them. It was the scene in the centre of the clearing that caught his attention.

Someone had set up a makeshift alter – under normal circumstances, Craig would have smirked at the sight of the flimsy collapsible table just showing beneath the black cloth covering it – and lying on it, shirtless, arms and legs tied fastening him securely to it, was Tweek. The man had clearly just woken up, taken stock of the situation and gone into full-blown panic mode.

"Oh God, oh shit oh _shit_ GAH!"

"They're awake," noted one of the men, dressed not in the robes that they had all secretly envisioned, but in combat pants and a T-shirt, a knife hanging from his belt and, Craig suspected, other weapons hidden among his clothes.

"Tweek!" Craig began to struggle more forcefully against his bonds. "Let him _go_!"

"Craig?" Tweek's voice broadcast his panic. "Shit Craig, they're gonna kill me! GAH!"

"So, _you're_ Craig," said a man standing almost totally in shadow, behind the fire where it was hard to make out his features. "I always knew he'd go running back to you."

Tweek yanked against the ropes that tied him to the table and finding no give in them. Craig saw it from the corner of his eye, but his attention was taken by the speaker, who was approaching the table, the shifting light allowing them to see him more clearly.

Kenny turned his head, taking in the speaker and sighing. "Isn't that...?"

"Yeah," snarled Craig. "Elliot fucking Bolton."

"We should have seen this coming."

Elliot stopped by the table and stroked Tweek's face. The blonde tried to twist away from him and Craig gritted his teeth, forcing himself not to say anything.

"It wasn't supposed to be this much of a drama," Elliot said, regret in his voice.

"It's lucky we had a contingency plan," snapped the man with the knife in his belt. "You were supposed to be keeping tabs on him, not fucking shacking up with the guy!"

Elliot snapped his head up, glaring at the other man. "I couldn't help it Dex!" he snapped. "I was gonna just keep a track on him, but – I don't know, he seemed so fragile after he left South Park and I wanted to look after him, there was something about him that – I fell for him. So sue me."

"If you're planning to double-cross us..." Dex's voice held a definite threat.

"I'm not!" Elliot rolled his eyes. "I'm here, _Tweek's _here, everything's going to plan! I just didn't think it'd hurt if we were to have a relationship before the inevitable."

"You're damn lucky we managed to track him down," growled Dex.

"Oh please. I knew just where he'd go if he ever left." Elliot gave Craig a look filled with dislike. "Anyway, that's what _your _role in this was, to catch him if he ever ran."

Kenny tried to turn his head further, without much success. "How long have you been watching Tweek?"

"Oh, years," replied Elliot dismissively. "Ever since we found out about the prophecy and his role in it, how one group could have the ultimate power _if_ they were willing to make the sacrifice. You might even recognise some of them. Over there is Ella Sutherland, who was Tweek's history teacher in high school."

A woman turned and waved to them. Kenny groaned. "Is this like a soap opera, where everyone turns up at the end?"

"Not really," said Ella. "Since there were only seven of us, four of us were keeping tabs while the other three were in... surveillance."

"I knew it!" yelled Tweek. "I _told_ you guys they were _gah_ watching me!"

Elliot nodded. "We've been watching you pretty much your whole life. We needed to make sure we knew where you were when the time came."

Tweek struggled against the ropes. "Elliot, _gnk_ I think we should start seeing other people, _ack, _I'll go get my stuff out of the apartment if GAH you untie me..."

"Other people?" Elliot scowled. "Like _him_?"

He glared over at Craig, who returned the look with one of his own. Elliot began to pace. "Oh, I know all about _that_. We've been keeping track, remember? It couldn't have worked out better really. I arranged for your parents transfer, got you far away from South Park and anyone you knew – all the better to keep you from finding out about the prophecy. I hadn't planned on us starting a relationship, but that was good too – I could look after you, made sure no harm came to you..."

"...And then bring him here and kill him," finished Craig.

"I'm a pragmatist."

"You're a _dick_!"

"_You're _a dick!"

"No, _you're_ a dick!"

"This is getting us nowhere," said Dex irritably. "The eclipse is starting in a minute, can we get on with the ritual?"

"Yes," said Elliot, regaining his composure. "The seven of us shall rule the world and all it will take is one small sacrifice."

Craig and Kenny redoubled their attempts to get out of the ropes, and although there was a little more slack in them than there had been, it wasn't going to do them much good. They were still too tight to allow them to free their hands.

"How the hell were you able to find out where Tweek was anyway?" asked Kenny, stalling for time.

"Oh, I knew he'd go running back to Craig someday," said Elliot bitterly. "As soon as he went missing and I heard someone had made an attempt on his life, I knew he'd be in this hick town. From there, we just had to wait."

"You're pretty well prepared for an accountant," said Kenny.

"Oh, none of that was my doing. Knowing we would no doubt come up against some resistance when the time came for the prophecy to be fulfilled, thee of our number trained as mercenaries. The surveillance Ella spoke of are the ones who managed to intercept you."

"Fucking _weak_," muttered Craig.

Kenny ignored him. "How did you know where we'd be driving from?"

"Bribed someone at the mayors office who knew where you lived."

Kenny groaned. "Let me guess. Fat guy, brown hair, whines a lot?"

"Yeah, that's him."

"Son of a _bitch_!"

"It's not important now," said Elliot, smirking at Craig. "Look at the sky. The eclipse is beginning."

"GAH! GAAAH!" Tweek yanked at the ropes again, unable to get himself free, thrashing around on the table.

"Tweek, remember what we said about not panicking?" asked Elliot in a soothing tone. "It's not doing you any good. How about an incentive to remain calm? Dex?"

Dex took a large shotgun off his back, resting it against Craig's forehead. Both he and Kenny stopped struggling against the ropes, Craig staring from under the barrel with murderous eyes, refusing to show any sign of intimidation.

"If you don't stay still Tweek, I'll have Dex here pull the trigger."

Tweek stiffened, managing to stop his resistance but still shaking wildly. Elliot grinned. "Now, maybe we can get started."

"Uh, not yet," said Ella apologetically. "The others haven't arrived."

Elliot stared into the woods, looking irritated. "Where the hell are they anyway?"

**~:~**

Kyle had been right in his assumption; the car was too wide to continue down the narrow trail. The passenger got out of the car and rested her hands on her hips. Kyle was mildly surprised to recognise her as the overweight, overworked waitress from Benny's. He'd hung out there on occasion in high school, most memorably when Stan and Henrietta had invited their respective peer groups at the same time, leading to some uncomfortable scenes when Kenny had described death as "Kinda fun", much to the displeasure of the Goths. Come to think of it, hadn't Tweek and Craig hung out there too sometimes?

"Well, shit," she said as Kyle crept up at the drivers side of the car, his hand finding a fallen tree branch and grasping it. "First I have to work all day, now I have to_ walk _to the damn ceremony."

The drivers door opened and before the man could get out, Kyle made his move, leaping to his feet and swinging the tree branch with all his might. There was a crack as it connected with the drivers face and he sprawled back into the car, knocked out cold.

The waitress turned, a look of shock on her face. Kyle dropped the branch and yanked the guns from his waistband, pointing them at her. "Don't make any sudden moves!"

She raised her arms into the air, looking frightened. Kyle hesitated. It seemed a bit unsporting to shoot someone who was surrendering, but he couldn't just let her go either. Nor could he stay there with the guns aimed at her until everything was over with.

"Get in the trunk," he said, mimicking the voice of every action movie hero he'd ever seen.

The waitress opened the trunk of the car and struggled inside. Kyle attempted to slam it shut, smacking her on the head with his first attempt and trapping her foot with the second. The third time turned out to be the charm and he finally had her trapped.

Sighing, he checked on the unconscious man before setting off deeper into the woods. Damn, being an archaeologist was harder than it looked.

**~:~**

"We can't wait for them," said Elliot, looking into the sky. "The eclipse is upon us."

Everyone stared up at the moon, which was tinged red and noticeably dark. The entire woods had taken on an eerie cast, the darkness shaded scarlet.

"The carvings had seven people on them," said Ella nervously. "Without those two..."

"There's still seven of us here," said Elliot, indicating to Craig and Kenny. "Maybe this was how it was supposed to be. Think of it Tweek, you might die – but your ex-boyfriend will get to live forever."

"Who said we're ex?" asked Craig.

"Ha!" yelled Kenny. "I _knew_ you two were making out upstairs!"

Elliot looked rattled. "Wait, Tweek, you cheated on me?"

"It doesn't matter!" snapped Dex. "Hurry up already!"

"But he _cheated_ on me!"

Tweek managed to turn his head to look at Craig, eyes wide. "You mean it? You want to get back together?"

"Oh for fucks sake," snapped Ella. "Is this really the time?"

"Yes!" yelled Craig. "I know things didn't go real well the last time and actually, they're not looking too good right now either, but yeah, if you came back I'd be _so happy_."

Kenny nudged Craig with his shoulder. "That was beautiful dude."

"Fuck you."

Elliot's eyes narrowed and he grabbed a large, curved knife from the table beside Tweek. "You're dumping _me_ for _him_? That's it, this ends _now_!"

He raised his arm into the air, the red-tinted moonlight glinting off the blade. Tweek screamed and Craig began struggling again, disregarding the gun against his head. Elliot ignored them both, bringing the knife down in a wicked arc...

The ground beneath him collapsed.

With a cry of alarm, Elliot dropped into the hole. The table Tweek lay on also sank and the knife embedded into the wood between Tweek's torso and arm. Tweek barely had time to let out a strangled yell before the table fell on top of him.

Dex hesitated, staring at the commotion and taking his attention from the two mercenaries he had at gunpoint. Craig took the advantage, throwing himself to one side and taking Kenny with him, kicking up at the same time and knocking the shotgun from Dex's grip. It went off and a bullet ricocheted from a tree.

The Mole climbed from the tunnel, a wicked grin on his face and a machine gun in either hand.

Ella dived to the covering offered by the trees with a scream of alarm and Dex went after his shotgun, rattled by the sudden arrival of backup. The Mole glanced almost disdainfully to where one of the five conspirators was aiming for him and let rip with both guns. The man collapsed to the ground, full of holes.

"I suggest zat you don't move," said the Mole to Dex, who wisely left the shotgun alone and raised his hands to show surrender.

"Hey Mole," said Kenny from where he lay, still tied to Craig, although the other man had finally got some give in their bonds and was managing to get the ropes loose.

The Mole glanced at them and rolled his eyes. "I should 'ave left you 'ere. Which one of you beetches crashed ze fucking van?"

A sudden burst of rapid machine gun fire interrupted them and the Mole spun around to see Gregory holding a gun of his own, standing over a man who was very clearly dead.

"He was trying to sneak up on you," explained Gregory. "You really should be more careful."

"I thought zat watching my ass was your job," said Christophe with a smirk.

Craig finally got free from the ropes and raced over to the table. Kenny rolled his eyes, shaking off the last of the ropes from his own wrists. "Gee, thanks for the assist Craig!"

Ignoring him, Craig turned the table onto its side and yanked the knife clear of the wood, using it to cut through the ropes that bound Tweek. Finally free, blonde man threw his arms around Craig's neck and planted a brief but fierce kiss on his lips.

Pulling away, Tweek rested his forehead against Craig's. "Were you _gnk _just saying that because you _ack_ thought I was going to _gah_ die?"

"I'd kinda planned on waiting until we didn't have an audience," replied Craig, looking faintly embarrassed. "But um, yeah, I thought if you were gonna be single, then, y'know..."

"Craig?"

"Yeah?"

"Elliot's climbing out of the hole behind you."

"Right."

Craig let go of Tweek and turned around, seeing Elliot attempting to scramble out of the tunnel, his head and chest above the ground, hands clinging desperately to the ground for purchase. Craig made a fist and punched him in the face, sending him falling back into the tunnel.

"I've been really wanting to do that for days now." Craig got to his feet, holding out a hand to pull Tweek up too. "Let's go."

They made their way over to the Mole and Gregory. Kenny had freed himself and got to his feet, holding one of Christophe's guns. Dex was still kneeling on the ground with his arms in the air.

"Hang on to this a moment." Kenny gave Craig the gun and took off his hoody, giving it to Tweek. "Here, you'll freeze."

"Thanks," replied Tweek, pulling it on. Shirtlessness and snow were not a good combination.

Kenny examined his T-shirt with his nose wrinkled – he'd taken a direct hit from a gas cannister and it smelled terrible, not to mention that the fumes might make him woozy – then stripped it off and tucked it into the waist of his jeans. Checking over the enemy situation, he looked at the group. "So, what now?"

"We keel them," suggested the Mole promptly.

Gregory sighed. "We don't need to kill them, they're contained. Mole, how often do we have to curtail your urge to maim?"

The Mole snorted, indicating at Dex with his gun. "Zis one 'ere, we 'ave met before. In ze Middle East, 'e was 'ired to protect ze life of some dictator. I was 'ired to dispose of 'im."

"Yeah?" Craig looked interested. "So, what happened?"

"Zere is no longer a dictatorship."

Dex suddenly threw himself backwards and the Mole opened fire, peppering the ground with bullets where the other man had been a second before. Moving fast, Dex reached into his pocket and threw something at the group. There was a flash as the grenade exploded and the ground caved, sending them all stumbling over.

Sneering, Dex leapt to his feet and launched a second projectile at them, this one emitting a stream of gas that immediately had everyone coughing, irritating their eyes and breathing.

"Tear gas," choked Gregory. "Get clear!"

"I had a feeling there'd be a tunnel under here," growled Dex, reaching into the smoke cloud and grabbing the blonde man from the group, dragging him backwards and hooking an arm around his neck in a death grip. "You're so predictable Mole. Always with the tunnels. Came in useful for me though."

Dex pulled a gun from his waistband and slammed the handle into the temple of his struggling hostage, rendering him limp. "Ella, get me the knife!"

The woman emerged from the trees she'd been hiding in, scooping up the knife from where Craig had dropped it and hurrying over to him. Dex smirked at the group, holding the gun beneath the man's jaw.

Gregory advanced slowly, his dirty clothes and bloodshot eyes a far cry from his usual immaculate appearance. "It's over. Why don't you just let him go?"

"No way!" Dex flicked off the safety, stopping Gregory in his tracks. "I've been working toward this for years! No one – _no one_ – is going to rob me of my chance to rule the world!"

In one swift motion, he snatched the knife from Ella, releasing his grip on the hostage so that he slumped to the ground, dropping to his knees and raising the knife into the air.

Craig dashed forward, intent on stopping him.

Too late.

The knife came down, crashing into the man's ribcage easily, separating flesh and releasing an amazing jet of blood into the air. Craig stopped, staring, as the moon began to turn a darker shade of red, the night sky darkening still further until the stars were blotted out. An ominous rumble sounded, as if an earthquake was approaching.

And then, dark shadows began to rise from the ground, shadows with elongated arms and glowing eyes, chattering and screaming, whipping around the clearing until they created a frenzied wind.

Gregory ducked as one of the shadows passed dangerously close to his head, having to actively fight against the force of the wind. "Do you know what this means?"

"_Oui_," replied Christophe grimly. "I think it means we're fucked."


	15. When Everyone Shows Up At The End

**Author Note: **Thanks and love to muh reviewers; Hayze-Chan, , The Brat Price, Chels and Alpha Hydra! I was really pleased at the overwhelmingly positive reaction, cuz I was a bit worried about making Elliot the dude after Tweek.

This chapter was really hard to write for some reason, and not just because I spilled beer on the keyboard and the space bar refused to work. I really struggled with it, but here it is! I hope you enjoy it. This is the penultimate instalment – the next chapter, which should be up in a day or two, is the epilogue.

**&*&*&*&**

Stan had barely got three miles into South Park when the demons rose out of the ground.

He hit the brakes of his elderly car and blinked, wondering if he was imagining things. Then again, this was South Park, so probably not.

"What the hell did you guys unleash this time?" he asked aloud, then decided the phrase was too close to what seemed to be happening and made up his mind to find Kenny and Kyle. He just knew they were involved in this somehow. They usually were.

The citizens had taken to the streets and were running about, screaming about the end of the world. Several times, Stan had to brake to avoid running people over and by the time he got to the main street, everyone had gathered to get some serious looting in.

_What is it with this town and the looting? _Stan thought to himself. _No one can ever just buy a TV, they wait until the next catastrophe and steal one!_

The tempting thought of how much he needed a new set came to mind and he shoved it away. There was no time for that now; somewhere in town, his friends were in trouble.

As he drive carefully down the street, he noticed a familiar figure sitting on a bench outside the drug store. While everyone else was taking to their heels, this person seemed to be taking notes. There were only four people in town who could watch the apocalypse with a slightly bored expression and a cigarette in hand, and only one of them wore a corset that tight. Stan's heart swelled at the thought of _her_, and other parts swelled at the thought of the corset. It had to be Henrietta.

Pulling the car up beside her, he leaned over the seats and threw open the passenger door, a look of urgency on his face. "Get in!"

Henrietta looked up, not seeming surprised to see him. "Why?"

"Because!" Stan looked around, noting the way the moon had turned red and the streets filled with terrified people and shadowy demons. "We have to get you to safety!"

Although Henrietta seemed unimpressed by his assertion, she climbed into the passenger side and slammed the door. Stan took of driving again, stealing glances at her whenever he dared take his eyes from the road.

"Where are we going?" asked Henrietta in a bored voice.

"Um..." Stan hadn't actually thought that far ahead. "I need to find where the demons are coming from."

"Oh. The main activity seems to be coming from Starks Pond."

"Right!" Stan floored the accelerator in an attempt to make the situation appear more dramatic.

"So, you're getting me to safety by driving straight at where they're all coming from? By the way, that was Mr Mackey you just drove over."

Stan sighed. Impressing a girl like that was _tough_.

**~:~**

"Oh my God!" yelled Craig, staring at the bloodied figure lying on the floor. "You killed..."

"Tweek!" interrupted Gregory, slamming a hand over Craig's mouth.

"You bastards!" Christophe raised the gun, but was unable to see his quarry through the swirling demonic shadows.

Dex laughed maniacally as the dark figures swarmed around the area, finally centring on the dying man and advancing upon him...

Then stopping.

The chattering sounds died down considerably as the shadow closest examined the man. Dex turned to Ella in confusion. "Is this _supposed_ to be happening?"

She shook her head. "I don't... something's wrong."

The shadow checking out the sacrifice whirled around, eyes extinguishing slightly and the high-pitched noise was replaced by a considerably more normal tone. "Okay lads, false alarm!"

"_What?"_ Dex ran up to the shadows and glared, ignoring the fact that they were demonic hell spawn. "But – we made the sacrifice! The prophecy!"

Elliot crawled out of the tunnel again, eye swelling and nose crusted over with dried blood. He took one look at the bleeding person and began pulling his hair in a manner reminiscent of his ex-boyfriend. "You idiot! That's not Tweek!"

"It's not?"

Tweek pulled down the hood of his borrowed coat and waved apologetically. "Uh, no, I'm _gnk_ over here."

"See you real soon," said the shadow cheerily to the injured figure.

"Yeah," he replied, coughing up blood. "I'll be there in a minute."

"And this is why we stopped using the Peruvians," muttered one of the shadows as they all vanished back into the earth.

Ella dashed over to the figure and stared at him before turning back to Dex. "You _moron_! How could you stab the wrong guy?"

"All blondes look the same to me!" yelled Dex furiously. "I just grabbed the one without a shirt on! Who the hell is that anyway?"

"_That_ is my boyfriend."

Dex began to look around, but before he could complete the turn, a bullet tore into his temple and most of his brains exited through the back of his head. Kyle moved the gun to point it at Ella and Elliot, who wisely fled.

"_Kenny!"_

Kyle dropped the gun and raced over to Kenny's barely moving body, dropping to his knees and cradling the blondes head in his arms. "Kenny! Are you okay?"

"Well, no," replied Kenny, weakly indicating to the gaping wound in his chest.

Kyle kissed Kenny gently on the lips. "You're coming back though, right?"

Kenny coughed up more blood, his eyes closing. Kyle pulled him closer. _"Right?"_

Christophe sighed. "Are we going to 'ave to do zis _every _time 'e gets killed from now on?"

Gregory hit him irritably. "Shut up Christophe. If you took note, you might learn something about the nature of relationships."

"Huh!" Christophe snorted. "I am French! What is zere _I_ need to learn about romance?"

"Guys," interrupted Craig. "Why don't we leave them to it? There are some things that don't need an audience."

"Agreed," said Gregory, leading the way as the four of them left the area. Craig transferred the gun into his left hand and threw his free arm around Tweek, who grinned widely. Christophe snorted again and Craig removed his arm long enough to flip the Frenchman off before returning it to Tweek's shoulders.

"Well, I think that was a good result," said Gregory cheerfully.

"Much lower body count than usual," added Craig.

"_Oui_, and zere were other problems too," said Christophe moodily. "Like, who is going to pay us?"

"Think of it as _pro bono_," replied Gregory.

"Humph," growled Christophe. "I thought I was a mercenary, not a fucking charity."

"Oh?" Gregory gave Christophe a look that was suspiciously close to a smirk. "You didn't _have_ to go chasing after Craig and Kenny."

"I didn't want to 'ave to pay zere share of ze bills!"

Craig laughed and looked about to add something when he froze, pulling Tweek behind him. Gregory and Christophe also paused, weapons at the ready. Tweek held his breath, trying to still his constant shakes and not make any noise. He didn't hear anything, thought the four of them were alone – but the mercenaries clearly didn't share his belief.

And apparently, they were right. After a few moments of silence, they all heard a furtive rustling among the trees. Gregory noiselessly moved to the edge of the path, pressing his back against a tree and motioning to the others. Craig backed up, keeping Tweek behind him. Christophe went to the other side of the path and seemingly vanished.

There was the sound of a twig snapping and a low voice complaining. "Oh, come _on_ dude..."

Craig glanced over to Gregory and received a nod, spurring him to action. Stepping forward and leaving Tweek among the trees, he lowered the gun slightly. "Stan?"

"Craig?" Stan emerged from the trees, hands in the air. "Um, I've got a bit of a situation here..."

There was movement behind the newcomer and Craig raised the gun again, narrowing his eyes as he took in the situation. Elliot fucking Bolton, he should have known. Elliot was holding a gun with one hand, the barrel pressed into the temple of the woman he was gripping tightly with his other hand; Henrietta.

Craig rolled his eyes. "What was Kenny saying about everyone showing in the end?"

"Drop the gun!" Elliot dug the gun deeper into Henrietta's temple. "All of you, I know the rest of you are there!"

Craig weighed up the chances of getting off a shot without injuring anyone and judged them poor. With a scowl, he threw the gun to the floor. A moment later, both Gregory and Christophe added their own weapons to the cache. Craig had no more weaponry on him, but he was pretty sure that the other two were packing. He just had to hope that Tweek stayed out of the way.

In spite of his appearance, Gregory seemed as unruffled as ever. "You didn't use a gun earlier. Did you forget you had it?"

"I _didn't_ have it! The woods are full of bodies with guns on them!"

"Ah." Gregory considered this. "In the future, we'll have to remember to search the corpses before we leave them."

"If you want _her _to have a future..." Elliot tightened his grip on Henrietta, who growled. "I want _him_."

He jerked his head in Tweek's direction.

"GAH!"

Craig raised an eyebrow, looking slightly amused, something that clearly didn't sit very well with Elliot. "Uh, why? He dumped your ass!"

"All those years planning, all those years dealing with those halfwits, all those years for _nothing_! All _wrecked_ because he went running back to you! Well, it might not be too late. The prophecy could still be fulfilled!"

"Give it up Bolton," replied Craig, sounding bored. "The eclipse is over with. Look at the moon, it's gone back to normal while everyone was fighting."

"I won't be left with nothing! I want Tweek!"

"He doesn't want you."

Elliot looked close to coming unravelled, struggling for a response before bursting out, "Give him _back_!"

Craig grinned and flipped him off.

"_You bastard!"_

Elliot moved the gun from Henrietta's head, pointing it at Craig. The moment he did, Henrietta drove one of her spike heels into his foot. With a scream of agony, Elliot shoved her away from him. Henrietta stumbled and Stan grabbed her, both of them falling over, Stan rolling and covering Henrietta's body with his own, protecting her from any bullets that might start flying.

Recovering, Elliot tried to raise the gun again, only to find Craig had already moved, running at Elliot with all pretence of humour gone. Craig leapt over Stan and Henrietta and grabbed Elliot's arm, forcing it upward. Elliot reflexively tightened his finger on the trigger and a shot rang out, the bullet going into the air. Craig twisted his arm and the gun fell to the ground.

Seconds later, another gun pressed into the back of Elliot's head. The man froze, stopping his struggles with Craig.

"I suggest you give up now," said Gregory, off to one side. "The Mole has a sub machine gun at your head and he hasn't hurt anyone in – ooh, at least fifteen minutes. He gets withdrawal."

Elliot sank to his knees and the Mole sighed in disappointment. "I 'ate it when zey don't fight. Does anyone 'ave something to tie 'im up with?"

"Of course." Gregory produced a pair of handcuffs, strolling over to Elliot and forcing the man's arms behind his back.

The Mole kept the gun on Elliot, but his eyebrows were raised. "You just 'appen to 'ave them with you?"

"Never leave home without them."

"Kinky."

Gregory rolled his eyes, cuffing Elliot and shoving him face first on the floor. "I really need some time off. Is there anyone _else_ likely to show up?"

"We lost _gnk_ Miss Sutherland," said Tweek nervously.

"We saw her running for her life as soon as we got out of the car," said Stan from his position protecting Henrietta on the floor. "Hey Tweek."

"H-hey Stan!"

"Stan." Henrietta pushed at the man, unable to free herself from beneath him. "If you don't move, you're losing your testicles."

"Oh, uh, sorry." Stan got up, extending a hand to help Henrietta from the floor. She pointedly ignored it and got to her feet herself.

Tweek regarded Elliot for a moment, wondering if he'd ever known him at all. He'd thought him boring, but if he'd shown a little of the energy in their life together, than maybe Tweek wouldn't have been so dissatisfied.

Then he looked over at Craig, who met his eyes and shot him a smile. Tweek returned it, deciding that he probably would have been dissatisfied no matter what. Elliot fucking Bolton wasn't Craig.

Gregory looked around. "How long before the police arrive, I wonder?"

"Might be a while," replied Stan. "The whole town went nuts when those things came out of the ground."

"Looting?"

"Oh yeah."

"Well, at least there's no raping and pillaging."

Craig jerked his head at Elliot. "What are we gonna do with him then?"

"Shoot 'im," said Christophe dismissively.

"We can't," said Gregory with a tenuous hold on patience. "It's unsporting to shoot an unarmed man."

"We could give 'im a gun and zen shoot 'im."

"No." Gregory grabbed Elliot by the upper arm and yanked him none too gently to his feet. "I'll find an appropriate way to dispose of him. Let's go. A mercenary should strike hard, then fade away."

Craig shook his head. "That's ninjas."

"Close enough."

The group made their way out of the woods, Stan checking them out and noticing something missing. "Hey guys – have any of you seen Kyle or Kenny?"

Gregory gave him a weary smile. "Kenny ran into a little trouble. Kyle's still with him."

"Oh my God, they killed Kenny?"

"Bastards," agreed Christophe, reaching to his back and finding the reassuring weight of the shovel. "I shall go and bury ze remains, if you think they 'ave 'ad enough time."

"You'd better go with him, Stan," said Gregory. "Christophe is not exactly – tactful."

"I am tactful!"

Stan looked over at Henrietta. "Um... can you go home with Craig and Tweek?"

"I'm capable of getting home without an escort," she said dryly, before noting his downcast expression and giving him a rare smile. "I'll be okay. Go."

Stan followed Christophe back into the woods, grinning a little. A smile had to be a good sign, right? Unless it was just gas.

Christophe paused for a moment to light a cigarette and Stan took the opportunity to speak. "Um, what's been going on around here? I only got back to town an hour ago."

Shrugging, Christophe took a deep drag on his cigarette. "Ze usual. Ritual sacrifice, kidnappings, people running around with big guns."

"What, no explosions?"

"_Non_. It 'as been quite dull. Although Kenny 'as finally stopped being a fucking pussy and jumped Kyle."

"Seriously?"

"_Oui_." Christophe took the cigarette from his mouth, letting his accent become ridiculously thick. "Zey are, 'ow you say in America? Oh, 'aving vigorous buttsex."

Stopping dead, Stan pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Goddammit. I hate you Mole. I really, really hate you."

"You and God both," smirked Christophe. "Enjoy ze mental picture."

"...I _really_ fucking hate you."


	16. Stop, Hammertime!

**Author Note: **I do send out individual review replies at the end of stories, but I want to do it here too; my overwhelmed thanks go to: Hayze-Chan (Tweek and Kenny switched clothes back in chapter 14), xxSay (over now I'm afraid), (SP and looting – I wish that happened in my town, I could really do with a flat screen TV), Alpha Hydra (I was thinking about doing the 'everyone gets dumped and dies' ending, but I wouldn't do that... right?), KittyBePraised (heh, I'd fight Elliot for Tweekers too, and I'll be writing more stories, no worries there!) and Dragon Of Darkness8705 (I love writing fight scenes, I think being able to write them well makes up for not being able to do a convincing kissing scene, lol).

I used Guitar Hero in this fic because a) no one in South Park has any other games, and b) the game just came through my door this lunchtime for me PS2 and I'm _so happy_. I love that game and now I have my own copy, hurray!

So, this is the end, beautiful friend... cue mournful music. I'll still be writing other SP fics though and there's always muh Dip story being posted. Hope you'll keep an eye out for them! I want to give huge thanks for everyone who has read, reviewed, favourited or checked out the story. I never expected the response I got and I'm happy that it was enjoyed, cuz I had all kinds of fun writing. Dudes, you're the best!

**&*&*&*&**

Stan cracked open an eye, wincing slightly in anticipation of a headache that never arrived. Confused, he moved his head around, still with no pain. It made no sense. He and Kyle had gone over to see Kenny, planning on celebrating a successful mission and _that_ involved plenty of drinking. But he'd barely walked into the house when Kyle said something, Stan turned to look at him – then something had covered his mouth and nose and that was the last thing he remembered.

Sitting up, he took a look around. The Kawasaki Ninja clued him in to his location; the garage at Kenny's house. At least he hadn't gone far – but what the hell was he doing here?

"You're awake."

Startled, Stan looked around and saw Henrietta , sitting in the corner and smoking a cigarette, looking annoyed. He felt an involuntary smile start on his lips, then managed to stifle it.

"How did you get here?"

"I wish I knew." She blew out a smoke ring and produced a piece of paper. "We're locked in by the way. This was pinned to the door."

"What does it say?"

"Dudes, sort it out. Kinky."

"Huh?" Stan took the paper and read it. "Oh, K n' K. Kyle's handwriting's shit." He let the implications sink in and started to scowl. "Bastards!"

"Your friends are fucking assholes."

"I know." Stan sighed and glanced at the paper again before looking back to Henrietta. They had split in the first place because he was taking off to college and she was staying in town, but he couldn't deny he missed her, spending too much of his time visiting his home town looking out for her, grilling his friends for information... maybe he had made a mistake. Perhaps a long distance thing _could_ have worked out after all. Kyle and Kenny seemed willing to try, so why couldn't he do the same thing?

Henrietta ground out her cigarette. "So, we're stuck in here until they decide to come find us. What are we gonna do?"

She raised her eyebrows and Stan grinned.

**~:~**

"DUDE!"

Clyde raced into the house, shoved a crate of beer at Craig and practically threw himself at Tweek, leaping over Kyle who was hooking up the games console. Tweek shrieked, the sound cut off when Clyde grabbed him in a crushing bear-hug. Token entered behind him, slightly more restrained but no less enthusiastic, putting his own crate on top of the one Craig already held and turning the scene into a group hug.

"What am I, a maid?" Craig dumped the beer on the nearest chair.

"You'd look real cute tidying the house in a skirt," said Kenny from his perch on the arm of the couch. Craig flipped him off.

"It's good to see you man," said Token.

"Yeah, we missed you," added Clyde, finally letting go of Tweek and giving him the chance to breathe.

"I missed _gnk _you guys too," said Tweek, grinning, slightly overwhelmed.

"All the gang back together again!" Clyde went over to the beers and began doling them out. "I call that a reason to celebrate."

"Damn straight." Craig took the beer and dropped onto the couch, Tweek sitting down next to him. Craig casually draped an arm over his shoulders and both Token and Clyde raised their eyebrows.

"That was quick," commented Clyde, earning himself a lovely view of Craig's middle finger.

Token snorted. "You're joking, right? After all these years, I think it's about time!"

"Done it!" Kyle straightened up, having been on the floor switching the controllers on the games system.

"Shame," said Kenny. "It was a good view."

Kyle flushed, instinctively trying to hide his butt from sight, giving Kenny a glare. Kenny winked and Kyle grinned, unable to hang on to his irritation.

"Zis game is foolish," said Christophe, lounging in a corner and smoking, resting his second beer loosely against his leg.

Kenny laughed. "You're just pissed because you got booed off-stage the last time you played."

Christophe glared. "I know seven different ways to use a guitar to kill a man."

"Okay," said Token. "I'm not playing against _him_."

"Beer me," said Clyde, draining his first drink in record time. "So, what's been going on around here? All we got was an e-mail telling us Tweek's back in town and to get down here. And then all anyone's talking about is demons and looting and someone doing a hit and run on Mackey."

"Oh come on, that car barely touched him," said Kyle, putting down the guitar controller to grab some more drinks, taking a seat beside Kenny and leaning against him.

"Before we go into it," said Craig, indicating at Kenny and Kyle. "You guys both owe me twenty dollars."

"Remind me again why we keep making bets with him when we always lose?" Token pulled his wallet out of his pocket, looking resigned.

Kenny almost choked on a mouthful of beer. "Hey! You made bets we'd get together? How did you know we even liked each other that way?"

"Oh please." Christophe snorted, smirking. "Everyone in ze world knew it."

"Except apparently for yourselves," added Gregory, looking more at home with a beer in his hand than any of them would have imagined. There had been some expectation that he'd ask for a glass, but he seemed happy enough drinking from the bottle. That was as far into slumming it as he went though; he was back to his usual immaculate clothing.

"When did you make this bet?" asked Kyle indignantly.

"When we were sixteen," answered Craig promptly, causing both Kenny and Kyle to start protesting loudly.

Token laughed, trying to quiet the pair. "Come on, I wanna know what's been happening!"

Craig gave Token and Clyde a sketchy overview of what had occurred, focusing mostly on the events by Starks Pond rather than Tweek's recent past and Kyle's problems with his tutor. Clyde started laughing when they got to the part about Dex mistaking Kenny for Tweek, earning himself irritated looks from both blondes.

"So Stan nearly got himself killed?" Token sniggered. "Figures. Hey, where _is_ Stan anyway?"

Kenny looked at the ceiling and Kyle widened his eyes innocently. "You know, I think he might be in the garage."

Gregory gave him an interested look. "Why?"

"Um, who wants to play guitar hero?" Kyle jumped up and grabbed a controller. "Clyde?"

Clyde took the other controller and Christophe snickered. "Avoiding ze issue?"

Kyle faked a look of puzzlement. "You know, I got an e-mail today, saying Professor Chalmers is taking a break from teaching for a while. Spending some time in hospital for some reason. I wonder why?"

Christophe and Gregory both kept their expressions carefully neutral and Craig threw his head back and laughed. "Bus-_ted_!"

"I 'ave a gun and a shovel," said Christophe, clearly not serious. "I don't think anyone would miss you."

"GAH!" Tweek jerked, staring at Christophe in panic and trying to shield Craig with his own slight body. "I would! Oh God, don't kill him!"

"He won't," said Craig with a smirk, pulling Tweek closer to him. "There's no money in it."

"Zis one, I do for pleasure."

"I always knew your idea of foreplay involved _someone_ getting killed."

"You often think about it zen?"

"Hey Tweek," said Token, raising his voice slightly over Kyle and Clyde's playing. "What are you gonna do now? Are you going back to work or staying here for good?"

"Gah!" Tweek jumped a little. "I quit my job _ack_! I'm gonna find an apartment in _gnk_ South Park and I dunno..."

"He'll get by," said Craig firmly. "He'll find a job somewhere."

"And find a cosy little love nest too," teased Kenny.

"HA!" Kyle did a victory dance as the song ended and he was points ahead of Clyde. Irritated, Clyde shoved Kyle and the redhead stumbled, landing heavily on Christophe's knee.

Christophe gave Kenny a weary look. "Is zis yours?"

Kyle leapt of Christophe's knee, blushing. Kenny chuckled and grabbed Kyle, pulling him onto his own lap. "Yeah, so keep your hands off, Mole!"

Token smirked at the scene before turning his attention back to Tweek. "Have you had any, uh, problems since you got back? With the people in town, I mean?"

"Not really but _gnk_ there was a GAH thing with C-Cartman..."

Craig's expression darkened. "Asking if he should be concerned about any more houses being burned down. Don't need to worry about that any more though."

Kenny chuckled. "I'll never know where you got that horses head from Christophe."

"I keep a supply in ze freezer. Zat reminds me, who wants pizza?"

"Um... I'll pass," said Clyde, looking slightly green. He might have been joking – but then again, this _was _Christophe and one could never tell. "Let's just stick to the beer."

"I'm glad we don't have to get up in the morning," said Craig, snagging another beer for Tweek and one for himself before giving Gregory a glance. "Uh, we _don't_ have to get up in the morning, do we?"

"Well, we have been contacted..." Gregory noted the looks of dismay on both Craig and Kenny's faces and smiled. "Although I'm sure Professor Chaos can wait a while for his minions return."

"Huh, 'amster 'unting," muttered Christophe, lighting a cigarette. "Zat one you can do on your own. I am a mercenary, not a fucking 'ippie. If it cannot be eaten, it is fit only for target practice. And pets! What is ze point of zem? One moment zere are 'amsters and ze next thing, zey are upgraded to guard dogs and I..."

Kenny, Craig and Gregory joined in. "...Fucking hate guard dogs!"

"You're ranting Christophe," added Gregory.

"Humph." Christophe flicked ash across the floor.

Tweek stood up suddenly. "I'm _gnk_ going to the bathroom."

"Have fun," said Kenny, wrapping his arms around Kyle and resting his chin on his boyfriends shoulder. "Hey, you think we ought to let Stan out?"

Kyle considered it. "Well, give it another half an hour. Maybe an hour."

"You're an evil man Broflovski," said Kenny with a chuckle. "I like it."

Kyle turned his head to give Kenny a quick kiss. Clyde cleared his throat loudly. "Hey, no PDA!"

"It's my house," replied Kenny.

"We could always lock him in the garage too," suggested Kyle.

"If you keep this up, you'll have half the town locked in there," said Token.

Tweek returned to the room and started carefully making his way around the crates, empty bottles and discarded guitar controllers. Somehow, he managed to catch his foot and trip. Craig jumped up to catch him, missed, and Tweek crashed onto the floor.

"Gah!" he said with exaggerated and clearly fake shock. "I'm hurt!"

Craig blinked at the bad acting, but knelt next to Tweek anyway. "Where?"

"My wrist," said Tweek, bending it around and making pained faces. "It's _gnk_ really sore, I think I _ah_ sprained it."

Surprisingly, Christophe leant forward and examined Tweek's wrist. "Huh, needs ice. Gregory, you are ze closest to ze icebox."

Sighing, Gregory rose and headed for the kitchen. As soon as he did, Tweek stopped pulling faces and got to his feet. Christophe leant back into the chair, took a swig of beer and chuckled. Craig looked from one to the other and frowned. "I knew letting you two hang out could only lead to trouble."

Tweek attempted to look outraged, but his acting skills hadn't improved in the last few minutes. Christophe didn't even try, seeming amused.

"Why did you want Gregory out of the room?" asked Kenny, a trace of alarm entering his voice.

In response, there was a crash from the kitchen, followed by a twang and a whooshing that sounded like heavy rope whipping through the air at speed. Christophe shrugged, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray. "Zere was a new trap I wanted to try."

"Which you set up in the kitchen." Token stared at him incredulously. "With Tweek's help."

"If 'e is going to 'ave 'is own place, 'e should be familiar with 'ome security."

Craig tried to imagine making his way through Tweek's apartment after one of his boyfriends attacks of paranoia and palmed his face. "Thanks a lot Mole."

"You _should_ be thanking me," replied Christophe with a sly grin. "Thanks to me, Tweek knows 'ow to tie a knot properly. Should be a useful skill, _non_?"

Tweek flushed and jumped. Craig tightened his arm around him, a thoughtful look on his face. "Hmmm – I guess I could be roped into it!"

There were loud groans at the shitty pun, from everyone except Tweek, who looked panicked. "Shit dude, no way! What if I tied the ropes too tight _gnk _and cut off your circulation and then your hands fell off and got a life of their own and got revenge by strangling me!"

"That's why you have a safe word," said Token promptly, earning a few raised eyebrows in his direction. "What? You say the safe word and the other person stops... will you all quit looking at me like that!"

"GAH! What if I forgot the safe word? That's _way _too much pressure!"

"You just pick a word you're not gonna forget," grinned Craig.

"...Hammertime?"

"Something _not _connected with sex."

Kenny clapped his hands over his ears. "La la la, I did _not_ just hear that from the guy who has the room next to mine!"

Clyde laughed and stood up, grabbing the guitar control again. "Rematch Kyle?"

Kyle shook his head, one arm around Kenny and the other hanging on to a beer. "I'm comfy."

Kenny whispered something in Kyle's ear and the boy blushed, laughing. Clyde rolled his eyes. "Token? Come on, you're the only one not groping some blonde!"

"Speaking of which," said Kenny. "Are we gonna leave Gregory hanging around in the kitchen all night?"

Christophe reached into his belt and withdrew an extremely large hunting knife, causing Tweek to twitch and Clyde and Token to look taken aback. Kyle stared nervously at the weapon. Only Kenny and Craig seemed unconcerned.

"I shall cut 'im down," said Christophe with a smirk when he saw the reactions. "And zen I shall mock 'im all night for falling into ze trap. Ha!"

Craig shook his head as Christophe headed for the kitchen. "He's so easily amused."

"Hell, I'd be pleased," said Kenny, glancing over at the crate and then at Kyle. "Um, can someone pass me a drink? I don't really wanna move."

Token handed him a beer. "You'd be pleased why?"

"Well, who would have thought Gregory would be..."

A loud crash interrupted his words, followed by a familiar whooshing sound, a slight pause and then a string of loud French curses. Kenny and Craig broke out laughing.

"I guess the Mole just lost his bragging rights," said Kenny between sniggers.

Craig raised his bottle sardonically. "Here's to home sweet home. Prisoners in the garage, plastique in the fridge, heads in the freezer..."

"GAH!"

Kenny raised his own bottle. "Cold beers, a redhead in my bed and the annoying French guy hanging, hopefully upside-down, in the kitchen."

"I'll drink to that." Craig downed the bottle, ignoring the crashes from the kitchen. "Did you ever think life would turn out like this?"

Kenny considered it. "Well, I always really hoped."

"Me too." Craig set the empty aside and exchanged a secretive look with Tweek, while Clyde made puking noises in the background.

Craig flipped him off, then glanced at the kitchen door. "It's gone very quiet in there all of a sudden."

"Yeah," said Kenny, frowning slightly. "You don't think...?"

"What?"

"That they're, y'know, having a Spider-man moment?"

Both men thought about this briefly, then simultaneously shook their heads.

"...Nah."

**~:~**

Gregory leant against the wall, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Three beers and you're already losing your concentration. Very sloppy."

"Fuck you!"

"You said that already. In six different languages. I didn't even know you spoke Japanese."

Christophe growled, wondering how he was supposed to keep his dignity when he was dangling by his ankle and being mocked by Smug Bastard Gregory. Fortunately, he had managed to keep a hold on the knife and in an impressive display of strength, leaned up and grabbed the rope with one hand, cutting through it and freeing himself. The moment his feet touched the floor, he turned and glared at Gregory, one fist clenched, the other still gripping the knife.

"Zat was not funny."

"I laughed."

"I'll get you for zis!"

"Of course you will," replied Gregory, in a voice that clearly said he doubted it.

Christophe raised his hand, the knife leaving his grasp and flying toward Gregory before the other man could react. The smirk left Gregory's face as the weapon embedded itself into the wall, point first, maybe two inches away from his ear. Gregory glanced over at the knife, realised he'd been distracted and turned back just in time to see Christophe close the gap between them with speed. He had no time to take evasive action as the Frenchman grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the wall, scowling furiously. Gregory considered attempting to free himself, then decided against it. When Christophe was in a mood like this, it was best to let him have his tantrum and get it over with. It had probably been a bad idea to rile him up in the first place – but Gregory could never resist. It was just too much fun to see the reaction.

That knife had been _very_ close.

"You are an asshole," growled Christophe, tightening his grip.

"So you keep telling me," replied Gregory, mildly perturbed to hear the slightly uneven tone of his voice. Christophe was clearly trying for intimidation and that might work on other people, but Gregory wasn't planning on backing down any time soon. Instead, he held Christophe's stare, a challenging look in his eyes, suddenly hyper-aware of the charged atmosphere between them and their close proximity. The sensible thing to do would be to break the hold and make some glib comment, but he didn't want to be the one to back down. And all of a sudden, struggling didn't seem all that appealing.

Surprisingly, it was Christophe who broke the staring match, letting his eyes drop to Gregory's mouth before darting back up again, a movement small enough to be unnoticed by most – but Gregory didn't miss it. Nor did he miss the predatory look in the other mans expression as the silence between them spun out further, knowing he should say something and put a stop to the whole thing.

Instead, he raised his eyebrows and gave a barely perceptible smile, silently saying, _I dare you_.

There was a crash as the kitchen door was thrown open and Craig and Kenny burst in, Craig brandishing a menu "If you two have finished killing each other, we're calling City Wok..."

Christophe backed away from Gregory hurriedly, as if he had just been burned, attempting to appear nonchalant; Gregory also aimed for a casual appearance, hoping that neither man thought that anything, well, suspicious, was going on.

He hoped in vain. A knowing grin came over Kenny's face and he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Or if you want, we could just leave you two _alone_."

Christophe growled irritably.

"Y'know Christophe," added Craig with a smirk. "You really need to stop thinking with your dick..."

Grabbing the ever-present shovel off his back, Christophe advanced. Kenny and Craig backed toward the door, Kenny glaring at Craig. "You just _had_ to say it."

"Hey, it was either that or ask if Gregory's still got the handcuffs!"

Kenny pointed at Craig. "I'm not with him! I've never met him before in my life!"

The shovel swung, creating yet another dent in the kitchen door, seconds before it was pulled open and Kenny and Craig raced through it, followed by a pissed-off Frenchman yelling threats. The visitors looked up with mild curiosity as mercenaries ran around the room, dodging beers and leaping games consoles.

Gregory walked out of the kitchen behind them and retook his seat, affecting an amused look. Kyle glanced over to him, ducking a particularly wild shot. "They _didn't _interrupt a Spider-man moment, did they?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Well. Good."

"It wasn't raining."

"...Wait, _what_?"

"I will kill _both_ of you, beetches!"

"No! I just died two days ago!"

"_Especially _you Craig!"

"No! GAH! Oh _shit_! Don't kill him!"

"Stop! Hammertime! _Hammertime_!"

The sound of the yells carried out to the yard, heard dimly by the people in the garage, who ignored them...

And as the crow flies, it was a straight line the three miles to the jail, where Elliot Bolton was attempting to saw through the bars with a nail file...

And from there, it was only another mile to Starks Pond, where a fat guy in a business suit was making a dubious deal with a shadowy figure in a cape...

And outside the house of a certain Jewish teenager, the bright, beady eyes of tiny minions kept watch as the bedroom light was switched off...

And things in South Park continued on as they always had.

**THE END!!**


End file.
